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WILLIAM    VVOKDSWOKIH. 


PERSONAL  TRAITS   OF 


British  A 


RITISH    AUTHORS 


Wordsworth— Coleridge— Lamb 
Hazlitt— Leigh  Hunt— Procter 


EDITED    BY 


EDWARD  T.  MASON 


WITH  PORTRAITS 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1885 


****.  ^•>  »   ^ 


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COPYKIGHT,    1885,    BV 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TR0W8 

PRINTING  *N0  eOOKBINOING  COMPANV, 
NEW  YORK. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Preface, v 

Chronology, i 

William  Wordsworth, 3 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge, 55 

Charles  Lamb, m 

William  Hazlitt, 175 

James  Henry  Leigh  Hunt, 215 

Bryan  Waller  Procter, 259 

Evenings  with  the  Lambs,  269 

List  of  Works  Quoted, 277 


PREFACE. 


THIS  volume  presents  a  company  of  friends. 
These  men  were  bound  together  by  strong 
sympathies,  yet  differed  enough  in  temperament 
and  character  to  give  zest  and  variety  to  their  inti- 
macy. That  intimacy  was  unmarred  by  dissension  or 
misunderstanding,  and  was  only  broken  by  death. 
There  was  one  exception — Hazlitt  quarrelled  with 
Wordsworth  and  Coleridge  on  account  of  their  con- 
servatism. He  had  known  them  in  youth  as  ardent 
enthusiasts,  advocates  of  the  French  revolution, 
and  could  not  forgive  a  change  of  political  convic- 
tions which,  to  him,  seemed  mere  apostacy.  His 
fiery  intolerance  made  him  regard  his  old  friends  as 
time-servers  and  renegades.  This,  however,  was  the 
only  break  in  the  harmony  of  these  comrades. 

Suppose  that  some  lucky  man  were  enabled  to 
wander  back  into  the  past,  and  to  place  himself  at 
will  in  the  scenes  and  among  the  companions  of  his 
choice.     After  due  deliberation,  he  decides  to  spend 


VI  PREFA  CE. 


a  day  with  this  company  of  cronies,  at  Wordsworth's 
house.  The  lucky  man  will  not  choose  hastily  ;  he 
hesitates  ;  he  weighs  the  matter  thoroughly ;  it  is  in 
his  power  to  drink  a  cup  of  sack  with  the  poets  at 
the  Mermaid  Tavern  ;  to  ramble  through  green 
meadows  with  Isaac  Walton  ;  to  go  with  Sir  Rich- 
ard Steele  to  see  Betterton  play  Hamlet  ;  or  to 
listen  to  the  debates  of  that  club  over  which  Samuel 
Johnson  presides.  But  at  length  he  makes  his  de- 
cision, and  speedily  arrives  at  Rydal  Mount.  As  he 
talks  with  Wordsworth  he  finds  unwonted  meaning 
in  the  com.monest  things  around  him,  and  sees  a 
new  beauty  in  the  earth  and  sky.  Should  he  grow 
a  little  w^eary  of  his  host's  proprietorship  of  nature, 
and  the  too  frequent  repetition  of  the  favorite  per- 
sonal pronoun,  he  can  stroll  to  the  lake  w4th  Hunt, 
whose  good  spirits  and  cheerful  optimism  make  him 
tlie  benefactor  of  all  who  come  under  his  sunny  in- 
fluence. Presently  they  return  to  the  house,  where 
Hazlitt  is  telling  of  new  treasures  he  has  found  ; 
delighting  his  friends  by  his  own  delight  in  the 
Elizabethan  poets,  and  showing  a  keen  insight 
which  discerns  every  phase  of  strength  and  beauty. 
But,  by  some  mischance,  the  talk  turns  to  English 
politics.  All  is  changed.  The  calm  reasoner  and 
clear-sighted  critic  becomes  a  furious  partisan.  His 
voice  is  choked  by  rage,  his  face  convulsed  by  pas- 
sion.    The  startled  visitor  feels  the  air  grow  hot 


PREFA  CE.  VU 


and  heavy  ;  his  ears  are  stunned  by  passionate  de- 
nunciation and  wild  invective.  At  the  first  oppor- 
tunity he  leaves  the  furious  radical,  and  finds  a  grate- 
ful relief  in  chatting  with  a  more  congenial  compan- 
ion ;  for  by  yonder  window,  whither  he  has  retreated 
from  the  din,  stands  young  Procter,  in  whose  mod- 
esty and  gentle  quietness  there  is  nothing  dull  or 
insipid.  Evening  comes  ;  the  candles  are  lighted  ; 
now  the  talk  of  Coleridge  flows  forth  with  majestic 
sweep,  musical,  eloquent,  unwearied — "a  river  deep 
and  wide."  Some  may  find  the  voyage  long  ;  some 
may  be  left  stranded  upon  shoals,  while  the  mighty 
stream  moves  onward  ;  but  for  them,  here  is  Charles 
Lamb,  whose  quaint  thought  and  delicate  fancy 
staminer  themselves  forth  in  broken  sentences,  un- 
studied epigrams  of  mingled  humor  and  wisdom. 
He  will  joke  with  a  Church  dignitary  as  freely  as 
with  a  clerk  in  the  India  Flouse.  He  walks  undis- 
mayed in  a  twilight  of  doubts  and  questionings  ; 
guessing  at  truth  ;  prizing  an  apt  suggestion  above 
the  most  conclusive  demonstration.  He  loves  to 
startle  prosaic  minds  by  the  assertion  of  whimsical 
paradoxes  ;  and  his  catholic  sympathy  confesses  to 
a  certain  tenderness  for  a  sheep-stealer.  Could  one 
wish  himself  in  better  company  than  this  group  of 
friends  ? 

These  kindly  and  high-natured  men  were  held  up 
to  contempt  and  reproach  as  madmen  and  outlaws. 


Vlll  PREFACE. 


Some  of  them  were  assailed  with  a  violence  which 
could  scarcely  have  been  greater  had  they  been 
strange  monsters  of  crime,  combining  in  their  own 
persons  the  cruelty  of  Nero  and  the  baseness  of 
Judas,  instead  of  being  quiet,  law-abiding  citizens, 
and  workmen  whose  labors  were  destined  to  shed 
the  highest  honor  on  their  land,  and  to  be  a  source 
of  joy  to  all  mankind.  Not  even  Lamb  escaped  the 
malevolent  spirit  of  the  time.  In  England,  sixty 
years  ago,  politics  influenced  all  judgments  of  liter- 
ature to  an  extent  which  now  seems  hardly  credible. 
When  the  critic,  in  those  days,  sat  down  to  deal  with 
the  writings  of  a  political  opponent,  he  lost  sight  of 
the  common  obligations  of  humanity.  No  misrep- 
resentation was  too  reckless,  no  personality  too  in- 
decent, for  his  purpose.  He  was  not  content  with 
a  wholesale  condemnation  of  the  author's  work,  but 
proceeded  to  impugn  his  motives  and  to  besmirch 
his  moral  character.  It  may  be  interesting  to  note 
one  or  two  typical  instances  of  this  ruffianism.  In 
1818,  Blackwood's  Magazine  called  Leigh  Hunt 
"  the  meanest,  the  filthiest,  and  the  most  vulgar  of 
Cockney  Poetasters."  The  good-mannered  critic 
also  spoke  of  "  the  leprous  crust  of  self-conceit  with 
which  his  whole  moral  being  is  indurated,"  and 
called  attention  to  "  that  loathsome  vulgarity  which 
constantly  clings  round  him  like  a  venomed  garment 
from   St.   Giles."     A  few  years  later,  in  1823,   the 


PREFA  CE.  IX 


same  journal  paid  its  respects  to  William  Hazlitt, 
after  this  fashion: — "A  mere  ulcer,  a  sore  from 
head  to  foot,  a  poor  devil,  so  completely  flayed  that 
there  is  not  a  square  half-inch  of  healthy  flesh  on 
his  carcase."  The  Quarterly  Review  was  but  little 
behind  Blackwood  in  the  virulence  of  its  attacks 
upon  Hunt  and  Hazlitt  ;  but  the  extracts  already 
given  will  suffice. 

Happily,  there  were  other  and  widely  different 
observers,  who  have  left  us  records  exceptionally 
graphic  and  satisfactory.  By  their  aid  we  may  join 
Wordsworth  and  Coleridge  as  they  stroll  together 
upon  "the  ribbed  sea-sand,"  talking  of  the  "An- 
cient Mariner,"  unwritten  as  yet.  We  may  visit  the 
blithe  prisoner,  Leigh  Hunt,  in  his  gaily  decorated 
rooms  at  the  Horsemonger  Lane  Jail,  and  learn  how 
to  make  the  best  of  misfortune.  Or,  seated  in  some 
cosy  London  inn,  we  may  hear  the  midnight  chimes 
in  company  with  Hazlitt.  These  pleasant  chron- 
icles tell  us  how  Lamb  went  to  spend  a  few  days 
with  Wordsworth  at  Grasmere,  and  found  it  neces- 
sary to  stay  his  mind  by  recalling  his  wonted  haunts 
in  town,  and  consoled  himself  by  the  reflection  that 
he  should  soon  return  to  the  "  sweet  security  of 
streets."  They  lead  us  to  the  comfortable,  low-ceiled 
chambers  in  Inner  Temple  Lane,  where  Charles  and 
Mary  Lamb  welcome  their  guests.  The  punch  is 
brewed,  the  pipes  are  lighted,  the  fire  burns  cheerily. 


PRE  FA  CE. 


Leigh  Hunt  flits  about  from  one  to  another  ;  whis- 
pering good-natured  gossip  to  Mary  Lamb  ;  joking 
with  his  host  about  those  "  immaterial  legs,"  encased 
in  the  rusty  black  small-clothes — a  joke  sure  to  be 
repaid  with  interest.  Now  he  delights  Wordsworth 
with  the  heartiest  praise  of  his  neglected  verses  ; 
and  now  he  mildly  deprecates  the  wrath  of  Hazlitt, 
who  calls  down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  upon  the 
Tory  ministry.  With  graceful,  unsuspected  skill 
he  lulls  the  storm  ;  the  angry  man  grows  calm,  and 
suffers  himself  to  be  lured  away  from  his  passionate 
resentments,  and  enticed  into  genial  talk  upon  the 
repose  and  beauty  of  Italian  art.  Coleridge,  with 
face  aglow,  discourses  volubly  to  Barry  Cornwall, 
most  patient  and  receptive  of  neophytes  ;  and  as  he 
soars  away  into  the  cloudy  region  of  metaphysics, 
the  reverent  but  tired  listener,  too  courteous  to  free 
himself,  glances  rather  wistfully  toward  Lamb,  the 
centre  of  a  laughing  group  by  tlie  fireside.  Lamb 
'sees  and  understands  the  glance.  He  quickly  makes 
his  way  to  his  "  dear  boy's  "  side,  breaks  in  upon  the 
unconscious  sage,  and  interrupts  the  stately  mono- 
logue with — "  D-dont  mind  C-coleridge — it's  only 
his  f-f-fun  ! "  Happy  evenings  !  Happy  and  fortu- 
nate friends  !  Hunt  and  Procter  lingered  for  many 
years  after  all  the  others  had  gone  ;  and  in  their  old 
age  tlie  white-haired  poets  often  sat  together,  re- 
calling bygone  years,  smiling  at  pleasures  past,  talk- 


PREFACE.  XI 


ins:  with  fond  remembrance  of   "the  old  familiar 
faces." 

Extracts  have  been  made  from  the  following 
American  copyrighted  books  :  Ralph  Waldo  Em- 
erson's "English  Traits"  (Boston,  1856)  ;  James  T. 
Fields's  "  Old  Acquaintance  "  (J.  R.  Osgood,  Boston, 
1876);  Nathaniel  Hawthorne's  "Our  Old  Home" 
(Ticknor  &  Fields,  Boston,  1863);  the  "English 
Note-books  "  of  the  same  author  (Fields,  Osgood,  & 
Co.,  Boston,  1870)  ;  R.  Shelton  Mackenzie's  "  Life 
of  Charles  Dickens"  (Philadelphia,  1870);  N.  P. 
Willis's  "  Famous  Persons  and  Places "  (Charles 
Scribner,  New  York,  1854) ;  "  Pencillings  by  the 
Way,"  by  the  same  author  (Charles  Scribner,  New 
York,  1853) ;  Mary  Balmano's  "  Pen  and  Pencil " 
(D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  New  York,  1858)  ;  Scribner  s 
Monthly  (Scribner  &  Co.,  New  York)  ;  The  Atlantic 
Monthly  (Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston)  ;  George 
Ticknor's  "  Life,  Letters,  and  Journals,"  2  vols. 
(Houghton,  MifHin  &  Co.,  Boston,  1876)  ;  Harper  s 
Magazine  (Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York).  Per- 
mission was  kindly  granted  to  make  selections  from 
these  works,  and  the  courtesy  of  their  respective 
owners  is  thankfully  acknowledged. 


WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 

1770-1850. 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 


WORDSWORTH  lacked  those  qualities  which 
inspire  spontaneous  enthusiasm,  and  endear 
a  man  to  those  around  him.  He  had  little  of  the 
personal  charm  which  obtains  instant  and  joyous 
recognition.  His  merits  were  not  fitted  to  win  pop- 
ular admiration  and  applause,  while  his  failings 
were  peculiarly  adapted  to  provoke  strong  dislike, 
harsh  judgment,  and  hostile  criticism.  His  biog- 
raphers seem  to  have  been  painfully  conscious  of 
these  facts,  for  they  have  evaded  unpleasant  truths. 
This  is  unfortunate  ;  because  the  facts  in  this  in- 
stance are  sure  to  be  discovered.  The  sympathetic 
reader  of  the  Rev.  Christopher  Wordsworth's  me- 
moir of  his  famous  uncle,  receives  the  impression 
of  a  beautiful  and  elevated  character  ;  a  nature  far 
removed  from  the  common  weaknesses  of  humanity, 
dwelling  serenely  above  the  vulgar  din  of  the  world. 
A  rude  shock  awaits  him  ;  for  upon  turning  to  the 
pages  of  De  Quincey,  Harriet  Martineau,  Charles 
Cowden  Clarke,  and  Julian  Charles  Young,  he  will 
find  evidence,  abundant  and  conclusive,  that  the 
demigod  was  the  victim  of  some  very  earthly  frail- 
ties. Indeed,  che  warmest  admirer  of  this  great  man 
must  admit  that  he  was  sadly  lacking  in  a  due  re- 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


gard  for  the  feelings  of  others,  that  he  practised  an 
economy  which  trenched  upon  meanness,  and  dis- 
played an  egotism  which  assumed  truly  astonishing 
proportions. 

His  egotism  was  largely  a  result  of  his  isolation. 
It  was  the  natural  outgrowth  of  a  solitary  life  ;  and 
his  lack  of    any  adequate  perception  of    the  ludi- 
crous betrayed  him  into  frequent  and  comical  exhi- 
bitions of  his  profound  self-satisfaction.     Moreover, 
for  many  years  his  most  zealous  and  enthusiastic 
partisan  was  William  Wordsworth.     Such  partisan- 
ship cannot  be  beneficial  to  any  man,  least  of  all 
to  one  prone  to  introspection.      Yet,  when  all  in- 
jurious  admissions    have   been  fairly  made,   there 
remains  enough  of  sterling  worth  to  justify  a  sincere 
admiration  for  the  man,  no  less  than  for  the  poet. 
We  may  not  altogether  like  him — but  we  must  re- 
spect him.    Hearty  and  unreserved  self-consecration 
to  a  lofty  purpose  must  always  command  respect  ; 
and  Wordsworth's  whole  life  was  an  illustration  and 
example  of  such   consecration.     His  mode  of  life, 
with  its  seclusion   and   manifold  deprivations,  was 
deliberately  chosen  by  him  as  that  which  he  deemed 
most  favorable  to  his  design  of  becoming  a  great 
poet.      Who  shall  say  that  he  was  mistaken,  and 
that  he  did  not  rightly  understand  the  requirements 
of  his  own  genius  ?     That  which  gives  dignity  to 
Wordsworth's  life,  and  constitutes  his  highest  claim 
to  personal  regard — and  even  to  veneration — is  his 
steadfast  devotion  to  an  intelligent  sense  of  duty. 

The  following  works  may  be  consulted  with  ad- 
vantage :  Rev.  Christopher  Wordsworth's  "  Me- 
moirs of  William  Wordsworth  ; "  F.  W.  H.  Myers's 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


volume  in  the  "  English  Men  of  Letters "  series  ; 
Wordsworth's  Poems,  edited  by  William  Knight, 
now  in  course  of  publication  in  Edinburgh  ;  Thomas 
Carlyle's  '*  Reminiscences  ; "  Rev.  R.  P.  Graves's 
"Recollections  of  William  Wordsworth;"  J.  C. 
Young's  "■  Memoir  of  C.  M.  Young  ;"  Harriet  Mar- 
tineau's  "Autobiography;"  Henry  Crabb  Robin- 
son's "Diary;"  Thomas  De  Quincey's  "Literary 
Reminiscences;  "  Caroline  Fox's  "Memories  of  Old 
Friends;''  and  an  essay  by  R.  W.  Church,  in  the 
fourth  volume  of  T.  H.  Ward's  "English  Poets." 
The  most  valuable  and  impartial  estimate  of  Words- 
worth, the  most  satisfactory  view  of  his  personal 
character,  as  well  as  of  his  literary  achievements,  is 
the  essay  by  J.  R.  Lowell,  in  the  second  series  of 
"Among  my  Books." 

LEADING  EVENTS  OF  WORDSWORTH'S  LIFE. 

1770.  Born,  April  7th,  at  Cockermoutli,  Cumberland. 

1778, — (Aged  8.)     His  mother  dies. 

1783. — (Aged  13.)  His  father  dies. 

1787. — (Aged  17.)  Enters  Cambridge  University.  Publishes  a 
sonnet  in  the  European  Magazine. 

1790. — (Aged  20.)  Visits  France  during  the  summer  vacation. 

1791. — (Aged  20-21.)  Graduates  in  January.  Goes  to  France  ia 
November. 

1792. — (Aged  22.)  Returns  to  London. 

1793. — (Aged  23.)  He  publishes  his  first  volumes  of  poetry, 
"An  Evening  Walk,"  and  "Descriptive 
Sketches." 

1795. — (Aged  25.)  Hires  a  cottage  at  Racedown,  in  Dorsetshire, 
where  he  lives  with  his  sister. 

1798. — (Aged  28.)  Publishes  "Lyrical  Ballads,"  the  joint  pro- 
duction of  Coleridge  and  himself.  Goes 
to  Germany  with  his  sister  and  Coleridge. 


8  WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


I799-— (Aged  29.)  Begins   the   composition   of    "The   Prelude." 
Hires   a   cottage   at    Grasmere,    where   he 
lives  with  his  sister. 
1800.— (Aged  30.)  Publishes  the  second  edition  of  "Lyrical  Bal- 
lads," in  two  volumes;  the  second  volume 
being  exclusively  his  own  work. 
1802.— (Aged  32.)  Marries  Miss  Mary  Hutchinson. 
1805.— (Aged  35.)  Finishes  "The  Prelude."     ("The  Prelude" 
was  revised  and  corrected  throughout  the 
whole  course  of  Wordsworth's  life,  and  was 
published  after  his  death.) 
1807. — (Aged  37.)  Publishes  poems  in  two  volumes. 
1S13.— (Aged  43.)  Removes  to  Rydal  Mount.     Appointed  Distrib- 
utor of  Stamps. 
1814.— (Aged  44.)  Publishes  "The  Excursion." 
1815.— (Aged  45.)  Publishes  "  The  White  Doe  of  Rylston." 
1819.— (Aged  49.)  Publishes    "Peter    Bell,"   and     "The    Wag- 
goner." 
1S20.— (Aged  50.)  Publishes  "Sonnets  on  the  River  Duddon." 
1822.— (Aged  52.)  Publishes  "Ecclesiastical  Sonnets." 
^^2>9- — (Aged  69.)  The  University  of  Oxford  confers  upon  him 

the  degree  of  D.  C.  L. 
1842. — (Aged  72.)  Receives  a  pension  of  ^300  per  annum. 
1843. — (Aged  73.)  Poet  Laureate. 
1850,— (Aged  80.)  Dies,  April  23d. 


WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 


THE  only  reminiscence  of  Wordsworth's  boy- 
hood, of  any  particular  interest,  is  contained 
in  the  following  passage  from  some  autobiographi- 
cal notes,  published  in  the  "Memoirs":'  "I  was 
of  a  stiff,  moody,  and  violent  temper  :  so  much  so 
that  I  remember  going  once  into  the  attics  of  my 
grandfather's  house  at  Penrith,  upon  some  indignity 
having  been  put  upon  me,  with  an  intention  of 
destroying  myself  with  one  of  the  foils  which  I  knew 
was  kept  there.  I  took  the  foil  in  hand,  but  my 
heart  failed."  Thomas  De  Quincey,  in  his  "  Literary 
Reminiscences,"  gives  some  particulars  of  Words- 
worth's university  life,  which  are  of  too  apocryphal 
a  nature  to  merit  serious  attention.  De  Quincey 
does  not  claim  to  speak  from  personal  knowledge 
in  this  instance,  and  his  observations  lack  corrobo- 
rative evidence. 

Wordsworth  was  a  tall  and  ungainly  man  ;  with 
a  grave  and  severe  face,  and  a  manner  that  indicated 

'  Wordsworth  (Rev.  Christopher).  Memoirs  of  William  Words- 
worth. Edited  by  Henry  Reed.  2voIs.,  i6mo.  Boston:  Ticknor 
&  Fields,  1851. 


Boyhood 
and  youth. 


lO 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


Personal 
apjiearance. 


tranquillity    and    independence    rather    than    high 
breeding. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("Recollections").' 

Mr.  Wordsworth,  in  his  person,  is  above  the  mid- 
dle size,  with  marked  features,  and  an  air  somewhat 
stately  and  Quixotic.  He  reminds  one  of  some  of 
Holbein's  heads,  grave,  saturnine,  with  a  slight  in- 
dication of  sly  humor,  kept  under  by  the  manners 
of  the  age,  or  the  pretensions  of  the  person.  He 
has  a  peculiar  sweetness  in  his  smile,  and  great  depth 
and  manliness  and  a  rugged  harmony  in  the  tones  of 
his  voice. — William  Hazlitt  ("  Spirit  of  the  Age  ").' 

He  was  quaintly  dressed  (according  to  the  cos- 
tume of  that  unconstrained  period),'  in  a  brown 
fustian  jacket  and  striped  pantaloons.  There  was 
something  of  a  roll,  a  lounge  in  his  gait,  not  unlike 
his  own  "  Peter  Bell."  There  was  a  severe,  worn 
pressure  of  thought  about  his  temples,  a  fire  in  his 
eye  (as  if  he  saw  something  in  objects  more  than 
the  outward  appearance),  an  intense,  high,  narrow 
forehead,  a  Roman  nose,  cheeks  furrowed  by  strong 
purpose  and  feeling,  and  a  convulsive  inclination  to 
laughter  about  the  mouth,  a  good  deal  at  variance 
with  the  solemn,  stately  expression  of  the  rest  of 
the  face. — William  Hazlitt  ("  My  First  Acquaint- 
ance with  Poets  ").* 

'Procter  (Bryan  W.).  Autobiographical  Fragment,  and  Bio- 
graphical Notes,  with  Sketches  of  Contemporaries,  etc.  Edited 
by  C.  [oventry]  P.  [atmore].      i2mo.     London,  1877. 

'  Hazlitt  (William).  The  Spirit  of  the  Age.  8vo.  London, 
1825.  '  About  1798. 

*  Hazlitt  (William).  Literary  Remains.  2vols.,8vo.  London, 
1836. 


WILLIAM   VVORDSIVORTH. 


II 


His  features  were  large,  and  not  suddenly  ex- 
pressive ;  they  conveyed  little  idea  of  the  "  poetic 
fire  "  usually  associated  with  brilliant  imagination. 
His  eyes  were  mild  and  up-looking,  his  mouth 
coarse  rather  than  refined,  his  forehead  high  rather 
than  broad  ;  but  every  action  seemed  considerate, 
and  every  look  self-possessed. — Samuel  C.  Hall 
("Book  of  Memories ").• 

His  face  bore  marks  of  much,  not  always  peaceful, 
meditation,  the  look  of  it  not  bland  or  benevolent 
so  much  as  close,  impregnable,  and  hard  :  a  man 
miilta  tacere  loquive  paratus,  in  a  world  where  he  had 
experienced  no  lack  of  contradictions  as  he  strode 
along.  The  eyes  were  not  very  brilliant,  but  they 
had  a  quiet  clearness  ;  there  was  enough  of  brow, 
and  well  shaped  ;  rather  too  much  of  cheek  ("  horse 
face  "  I  have  heard  satirists  say)  ;  face  of  squarish 
shape,  and  decidedly  longish,  as  I  think  the  head 
itself  was  (its  "length  "  going  horizontal)  ;  he  was 
large-boned,  lean,  but  still  firm-knit,  tall,  and  strong- 
looking  when  he  stood,  a  right  good  old  steel-gray 
figure,  with  rustic  simplicity  and  dignity  about  him, 
and  a  vivacious  strength  looking  through  him  which 
might  have  suited  one  of  those  old  steel-gray  mark- 
grafs  whom  Henry  the  Fowler  set  up  to  ward  the 
**  marches,"  and  do  battle  with  the  intrusive  heathen 
in  a  stalwart  and  judicious  manner. — Thomas  Car- 
LYLE  ("  Reminiscences  ").^ 

'  Hall  (Samuel  C).  A  Book  of  Memories  of  Great  Men  and 
Women  of  the  Age.     4to.     London,  1876. 

'  Carlyle  (Thomas).  Reminiscences.  Edited  by  J.  A.  Froude. 
8vo.     London,  1881. 


Personal 
appearance. 


12 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


Personal 
ajipearance. 


Feb.  25th,  1 83 1.  I  am  just  come  home  from 
breakfasting  with  Henry  Taylor  to  meet  Words- 
worth ;  the  same  party  as  when  he  had  Southey — ■ 
Mill,  Eliot,  Charles  Villiers.  Wordsworth  may  be 
bordering  on  sixty  ;  hard  featured,  brown,  wrinkled, 
with  prominent  teeth  and  a  few  scattered  gray  hairs, 
but  nevertheless  not  a  disagreeable  countenance. — 
Charles  C.  F.  Greville  ("Greville  Memoirs").' 

Walter  Scott  said  that  the  eyes  of  Burns  were  the 
finest  he  ever  saw.  I  cannot  say  the  same  of  Mr. 
Wordsworth  ;  that  is,  not  in  the  sense  of  the  beau- 
tiful, or  even  of  the  profound.  But  certainly  I 
never  beheld  eyes  that  looked  so  inspired  or  super- 
natural. They  were  like  fires  half  burning,  half 
smouldering,  with  a  sort  of  acrid  fixture  of  regard, 
and  seated  at  the  further  end  of  two  caverns.  One 
might  imagine  Ezekiel  or  Isaiah  to  have  had  such 
eyes. — Leigh  Hunt  ("Autobiography").^ 

Hainpstead,  June  i\^  1842. — Gurncy  Hoare  brought 
us  the  good  news  that  William  Wordsworth  was 
staying  at  old  Mrs.  Hoare's  ;  so  thiti)cr  he  took  us. 
He  is  a  man  of  middle  height,  and  not  of  very  strik- 
ing appearance,  the  lower  part  of  the  face  retreating 
a  little  ;  his  eye  of  a  somewhat  French  diplomatic 
character,  wdth  heavy  eyelids,  and  none  of  the  flash- 

'  Greville  (Charles  C.  F.).  A  Journal  of  the  Reigns  of  King 
George  IV.  and  King  William  IV.  Edited  by  Ilcnry  Keed.  3  vols., 
8vo.     London,  1874. 

'  Hunt  (James  Henry  Leigh).    Autobiography  and  Reminiscences. 
3  vols.,  i6mo.    London,  1850. 


WILLIAM    IVORDSlVORril. 


13 


ing  which  one  connects  with  poetic  genius. — Caro- 
line Fox  ("  Memories  of  Old  Friends  ").' 

Wordsworth  was,  upon  the  whole,  not  a  well-made 
man.  His  legs  were  pointedly  condemned  by  all 
the  female  connoisseurs  in  legs  that  ever  I  heard 
lecture  upon  that  topic  ;  not  that  they  were  bad  in 
any  way  which  tcoii/d  force  itself  upon  your  notice  ; 
.  .  .  and  undoubtedly  they  had  been  serviceable 
legs  beyond  the  ordinary  standard  of  human  requi- 
sition ;  for  I  calculate,  upon  good  data,  that  with 
these  identical  legs  Wordsworth  must  have  traversed 
a  distance  of  175  to  180,000  English  miles — a  mode 
of  exertion  which,  to   him,  stood  in   the    stead  of 


De  Quin- 

cey  s  por- 
traiture of 
U  'ords- 
ivortk. 


wine,  spirits,  and  all  other  stimulants  whatsoever 
to  the  animal  spirits.  .  .  .  But,  useful  as  they 
have  proved  themselves,  the  Wordsworthian  legs 
were  certainly  not  ornamental.     . 

But  the  worst  part  of  Wordsworth's  person  was 
the  bust  ;  there  was  a  narrowness  and  a  droop  about 
the  shoulders  which  became  striking,  and  had  an 
effect  of  meanness  when  brought  into  close  juxta- 
position with  a  figure  of  a  most  statuesque  order. 
Once  on  a  summer  morning,  walking  in  the  vale  of 

Longdale  with  Wordsworth,  his  sister,  and  Mr.  J , 

a  native  Westmoreland  clergyman,  I  remember  that 
Miss  Wordsworth  was  positively  mortified  by  the 
peculiar  illustration  which  was  settled  upon  this 
defective  conformation.  .  .  .  Wordsworth's  fig- 
ure, with  all  its  defects,  was  brought  into  powerful 

'  Fox  (Caroline).  Memories  of  Old  Friends.  Being  Extracts  from 
the  Journals  and  Letters  of  Caroline  Fox,  from  1835  to  1871.  Ed- 
ited by  Horace  N.  Pym.     Svo.     London,  1882. 


14 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


De  Quin- 
ce/s  por- 
traiture oj 
Words- 
wort  It. 


relief  by  one  which  had  been  cast  in  a  more  square 
and  massy  mould  ;  and  in  such  a  case  it  impressed  a 
spectator  with  a  sense  of  absolute  meanness,  more 
especially  when  viewed  from  behind,  and  not  coun- 
teracted by  his  countenance  ;  and  yet  Wordsworth 
was  of  a  good  height,  just  five  feet  ten,  and  not 
a  slender  man  ;  on  the  contrary,  by  the  side  of 
Southey  his  limbs  looked  thick,  almost  in  a  dispro- 
portionate degree.  But  the  total  effect  of  Words- 
worth's person  was  always  worst  in  a  state  of  motion  ; 
for,  according  to  the  remark  I  have  heard  from 
many  country  people,  "  he  Avalked  like  a  cade," — a 
cade  being  some  sort  of  insect  which  advances  by  an 
oblique  motion.  This  was  not  always  perceptible, 
and  in  part  depended  (I  believe)  upon  the  position 
of  his  arms  ;  when  either  of  these  happened  (as  was 
very  customary)  to  be  inserted  into  the  unbuttoned 
waistcoat,  his  walk  had  a  wry  or  twisted  appearance  ; 
and  not  appearance  only — for  I  have  known  it,  by 
slow  degrees,  gradually  to  edge  off  his  companion 
from  the  middle  to  the  side  of  the  highway. 

Meantime,  his  face — that  was  one  which  would 
have  made  amends  for  greater  defects  of  figure  ;  it 
was  certainly  the  noblest  for  intellectual  effects  that, 
in  actual  life,  I  have  seen,  or  at  least  have  been  con- 
sciously led  to  notice.  Many  such,  or  even  finer,  I 
have  seen  amongst  the  portraits  of  Titian,  and,  in  a 
later  period,  amongst  those  of  Van  Dyke,  from  the 
great  era  of  Charles  I.,  as  also  from  the  court  of 
Elizabeth  and  of  Charles  II.  ;  but  none  which  has  so 
much  impressed  me  in  my  own  time.  ...  It 
was  a  face  of  the  long  order,  often  falsely  classed  as 
oval.     .     .     .     The   head  was  well   filled  out ;  and 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


15 


there  .  .  .  was  a  great  advantage  over  the  head 
of  Charles  Lamb,  which  was  absolutely  truncated 
in  the  posterior  region — sawn  off,  as  it  were,  by  no 
timid  sawyer.  The  forehead  was  not  remarkably 
lofty.  .  .  .  Wordsworth's  forehead  is  .  .  . 
liable  to  caricature  misrepresentations  in  these  days 
of  phrenology  :  but,  whatever  it  may  appear  to  be 
in  any  man's  fanciful  portrait,  the  real  living  fore- 
head, as  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  it  for 
more  than  five  and  twenty  years,  is  not  remarkable 
for  its  height ;  but  it  is  perhaps  remarkable  for  its 
breadth  and  expansive  development. 

Neither  are  the  eyes  of  Wordsworth  *'  large,"  as  is 
erroneously  stated  somewhere  in  "  Peter's  Letters  ;" 
on  the  contrary,  they  are  (I  think)  rather  small  ; 
but  that  does  not  interfere  with  their  effect,  which 
at  times  is  fine  and  suitable  to  his  intellectual  char- 
acter. .  .  .  His  eyes  are  not,  under  any  circum- 
stances, bright,  lustrous,  or  piercing  :  but  after  a 
long  day's  toil  in  walking,  I  have  seen  them  assume 
an  appearance  the  most  solemn  and  spiritual  that  it 
is  possible  for  the  human  eye  to  wear.  The  light 
which  resides  in  them  is  at  no  time  a  superficial 
light  ;  but,  under  favorable  accidents,  it  is  a  light 
which  seems  to  come  from  depths  below  all  depths  ; 
in  fact,  it  is  more  truly  entitled  to  be  held  "  The 
light  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea,"  a  light  radiating 
from  some  far  spiritual  world,  than  any  the  most 
idealizing  light  that  ever  yet  a  painter's  hand  created. 

The  nose,  a  little  arched,  and  large,  which,  by  the 
way  (according  to  a  natural  phrenology,  existing 
centuries  ago  amongst  some  of  the  lowest  amongst 
the  human  species)  has  always  been  accounted  an 


De  Quin- 
cey's  por- 
traiture of 
Words- 
ivorth. 


i6 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


De  Quin- 
ce^ s  por- 
traiture of 
Words- 
luorth. 


Voice  and 
conversa- 
tion. 


unequivocal  expression  of  animal  appetites  organi- 
cally strong.  And  that  was  in  fact  the  basis  of 
Wordsworth's  intellectual  power  ;  his  intellectual 
passions  were  fervent  and  strong,  because  they 
rested  upon  a  basis  of  animal  sensibility  superior  to 
that  of  most  men.  .  ,  .  The  mouth,  and  the  re- 
gion of  the  mouth,  the  whole  circumjacenciesof  the 
mouth,  were  about  the  strongest  feature  in  Words- 
worth's face  ;  there  was  nothing  specially  to  be  no- 
ticed that  I  know  of,  in  the  mere  outline  of  the 
lips  ;  but  the  swell  and  protrusion  of  the  parts  above 
and  around  the  mouth,  are  both  noticeable  in  them- 
selves, and  also  because  they  remind  me  of  a  very 
interesting  fact  which  I  discovered  about  three 
years  after  this  my  first  visit  to  Wordsworth.' — 
Thomas  De  Quincey  ("  Literary  Reminiscences  ").* 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  talk  very  naturally  and 
freely,  with  a  mixture  of  clear  gushing  accents  in 
his  voice,  a  deep  guttural  intonation,  and  a  strong 
tincture  of  the  northern  burr,  like  the  crust  on  Avine. 
— William  Hazlitt  ("My  First  Acquaintance  with 
Poets  "). 

'  This  discovery  (which  is  enlarged  upon  at  gieat  length)  was, 
that  the  best  portrait  of  Wordsworth,  according  to  De  Quincey's 
judgment,  was  a  certain  portrait  of  Milton,  j)ainted  by  Richardson, 
and  prefixed  to  a  volume,  of  which  my  only  knowledge  is  that  De 
Q.  describes  it  as  "Richardson  the  painter's  thick  octavo  vol- 
ume of  notes  on  'Paradise  Lost.'  "  Wordsworth's  family,  to  whom 
this  engraving  was  shown,  confirmed  the  opinion  of  De  Quincey  ; 
he  says,  "Not  one  member  of  that  family  but  was  as  much  im- 
pressed as  myself  with  the  accuracy  of  the  likeness." 

'  De  Quincey  (Thomas).  Literaiy  Reminiscences,  2vols.,  i6mo. 
Ticknor  &  Fields,  Boston,  185 1. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH, 


17- 


His  voice  was  good,  frank,  and  sonorous,  though 
practically  clear,  distinct,  and  forcible  rather  than 
melodious.  .  .  .  The  tone  of  his  voice  when  I 
got  him  afloat  on  some  Cumberland  or  other  mat- 
ter germane  to  him  had  a  braced  rustic  vivacity,  will- 
ingness, and  solid  precision,  which  alone  rings  in 
my  ear  when  all  else  is  gone. — Thomas  Carlyle 
("  Reminiscences  "). 

The  tone  of  him  business-like,  sedately  confident ; 
no  discourtesy,  yet  no  anxiety  about  being  courte- 
ous. A  fine  wholesome  rusticity,  fresh  as  his  moun- 
tain breezes,  sat  well  on  the  stalwart  veteran,  and  on 
all  he  said  and  did.  You  would  have  said  he  was 
a  usually  taciturn  man  ;  glad  to  unlock  himself 
to  audience  sympathetic  and  intelligent,  when 
such  offered  itself. — Thomas  Carlyle  ("  Reminis- 
cences "). 

My  companion  (Wordsworth),  according  to  his 
usual  fashion,  very  soliloquacious,  but  saying  much, 
of  course,  that  was  interesting  to  hear.  .  .  . 
In  giving  me  an  account  of  the  sort  of  society  he 
has  in  his  neighborhood  in  the  country,  and  saying 
that  he  rarely  went  out  to  dinner,  he  gave  a  very  in- 
telligible picture  of  the  sort  of  thing  it  must  be 
when  he  does  go  out.  "The  conversation,"  he  said, 
"  may  be  called  catechetical ;  for,  as  they  do  me  the 
honor  to  wish  to  know  my  opinions  on  the  different 
subjects,  they  ask  me  questions,  and  I  am  induced 
to  answer  them  at  great  length  till  I  become  quite 
tired."  And  so  he  does,  I'll  warrant  him  ;  nor  is  it 
possible,  indeed,  to  edge  in  a  word,  at  least  in  a  tcte- 

III.— 2 


Voice  and 

eoJiiiersa- 

iion. 


Convena.- 
tion. 


i8 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


Conversa- 
iwn. 


a-tctc,  till  he  does  get  tired. — Thomas  Moore  (Di- 
ary, etc.,  1835).' 

He  was  willing  to  talk  with  me  in  a  corner,  in 
noisy,  extensive  circles,  having  weak  eyes,  and  little 
loving  the  general  babble  current  in  such  places. 
One  evening,  probably  about  this  time,  I  got  him 
upon  the  subject  of  great  poets,  who,  I  thought, 
might  be  admirable  equally  to  us  both  ;  but  was 
rather  mistaken,  as  I  gradually  found.  Pope's  par- 
tial failure  I  was  prepared  for  ;  less  for  the  narrow- 
ish  limits  visible  in  Milton  and  others.  I  tried  him 
with  Burns,  of  whom  he  had  sung  tender  recogni- 
tion ;  but  Burns  also  turned  out  to  be  a  limited,  in- 
ferior creature,  any  genius  he  had  a  theme  for  one's 
pathos  rather ;  even  Shakspeare  himself  had  his 
blind  sides,  his  limitations.  Gradually  it  became 
apparent  to  me  that  of  transcendent  unlimited  there 
was,  to  this  critic,  probably  but  one  specimen 
known — Wordsworth  himself !  He  by  no  means  said 
so,  or  hinted  so,  in  words  ;  but  on  the  whole  it  was 
all  I  gathered  from  him  in  this  considerable  tete-ai. 
tcte  of  ours  ;  and  il  was  not  an  agreeable  conquest. 
New  notion  as  to  poetry  or  poet  I  had  not  in  the 
smallest  degree  got ;  but  my  insight  into  the  depths 
of  Wordsworth's  pride  in  himself  had  considerably 
augmented,  and  it  did  not  increase  my  lo^e  of  him  ; 
though  I  did  not  in  the  least  hate  it  either,  so  quiet 
was  it,  so  fixed,  unappealing,  like  a  dim  old  lichened 
crag  on  the  way-side,  the  private  meaning  of  which, 
in  contrast  with  any  public  meaning   it  had,  you 

'  Moore  (Thomas).     Memories,  Journal,    and  Correspondence. 
Edited  by  Lord  John  Russell.     8  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1853-56. 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


19 


recognized  with  a  kind  of  not  wholly  melancholy 
grin. 

Another  and  better  corner  dialogue  I  afterwards 
had  with  him,  possibly  also  about  this  time,  which 
raised  him  intellectually  some  real  degrees  higher 
in  my  estimation  than  any  of  his  deliverances,  writ- 
ten or  oral,  had  ever  done,  and  which  I  may  reckon 
as  the  best  of  all  his  discoursings  or  dialogues  with 
me.  He  had  withdrawn  to  a  corner,  out  of  the  light 
and  of  the  general  babble,  as  usual  with  him.  I 
joined  him  there,  and  knowing  how  little  fruitful 
was  the  literary  topic  between  us,  set  him  on  giving 
me  an  account  of  the  notable  practicalities  he  had 
seen  in  life,  especially  of  the  notable  men.  He 
went  into  all  this  with  a  certain  alacrity,  and  was 
willing  to  speak  whenever  able  on  the  terms.  .  .  . 
In  general  I  forget  what  men  they  were,  and  now 
remember  only  the  excellent  sagacity,  distinctness, 
and  credibility  of  Wordsworth's  little  biographic 
portraitures  of  them.  Never,  or  never  but  once, 
had  I  seen  a  stronger  intellect,  a  more  luminous  and 
veracious  power  of  insight,  directed  upon  such  a 
survey  of  fellow-men  and  their  contemporary  jour- 
ney through  the  world.  A  great  deal  of  Wordsworth 
lay  in  the  mode  and  tone  of  drawing,  but  you  per- 
ceived it  to  be  faithful,  accurate,  and  altogether  life- 
like, though  Wordsworthian.  —  Thomas  Carlyle 
("  Reminiscences  "). 

Throughout  the  conversation  Wordsworth's  man- 
ner was  animated.  .  .  .  His  words  were  very 
choice  ;  each  sentence  seemed  faultless.  No  one 
could  have   listened  to  his  talk  for  five   minutes, 


Conversa- 
tion . 


20 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


even  on  ordinary  topics,  without  perceiving  that 
he  was  an  extraordinary  man.  Not  that  he  was 
brilliant ;  but  there  was  sustained  vigor,  and  that 
mode  of  expression  which  denotes  habitual  thought- 
fulness. — Ellis  Yarnall  (quoted  in  Wordsworth's 
"Life  of  Wordsworth  "). 


Conversa- 
tion, 


When  speaking  earnestly,  his  manner  and  voice 
become  extremely  energetic  ;  and  the  peculiar  em- 
phasis, and  even  accent,  he  throws  into  some  of  his 
words,  add  considerably  to  their  force.  He  evident- 
ly loves  the  monologue  style  of  conversation,  but 
shows  great  candor  in  giving  due  consideration  to 
any  remarks  which  others  may  make.  His  manner 
is  simple,  his  general  appearance  that  of  the  abstract 
thinker,  whom  his  subject  gradually  warms  into 
poetry.     Now  for  some  of  these  subjects  : — 

Mamma  spoke  of  the  beauty  of  Rydal,  and  asked 
whether  it  did  not  rather  spoil  him  for  common 
scenery.  "  Oh  no,"  he  said,  "  it  rather  opens  my 
eyes  to  see  the  beauty  there  is  in  all ;  God  is  every- 
where, and  thus  nothing  is  common  or  devoid  of 
beauty.  No,  ma'am,  it  is  the  feeling  that  instructs 
the  seeing.  Wherever  there  is  a  heart  to  feel,  there 
is  also  an  eye  to  see  ;  even  in  a  city  you  have  light 
and  shade,  reflections,  probably  views  of  the  water 
and  trees,  and  a  blue  sky  above  you,  and  can  you 
want  for  beauty  with  all  these  ?  People  often  pity 
me  while  residing  in  a  city,  but  they  need  not,  for 
I  can  enjoy  its  characteristic  beauties  as  well  as 
any." — Caroline  Fox  ("  Memories  of  Old  Friends  "). 

Very  cheerful,  merry,  courteous,  and  talkative, 
much  more  so  than  I  should  have  expected   from 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


21 


the  grave  and  didactic  character  of  his  writings. 
He  held  forth  on  poetry,  painting,  politics  and 
metaphysics,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  eloquence  ; 
he  is  more  conversible,  and  with  a  greater  flow  of 
animal  spirits  than  Southey.  He  mentioned  that 
he  never  wrote  down  as  he  composed,  but  com- 
posed walking,  riding,  or  in  bed,  and  wrote  down 
after. — Charles  C.  F.  Greville  ("  Greville  Me- 
moirs "). 

No  one  in  the  habit  of  conversing  with  him,  but 
must  have  been  struck  with  the  power,  the  strength 
and  effectiveness,  with  which  he  could  argue  upon 
any  subject,  small  or  great,  provided  it  was  not 
scientific  :  he  could  handle  every  side  of  a  question, 
and  enforce  his  own  opinion  with  the  energy  and 
tenacity,  but  with  more  than  the  indications  of  con- 
viction of  a  lawyer.  In  the  same  way,  his  faculty 
of  observation  was  capable  of  employing  itself  suc- 
cessfully upon  objects  quite  different  from  those 
to  which  he  especially  consecrated  it. — Robert  P. 
Graves  ("Recollections  of  Wordsworth").' 

On  a  summer  morning  (let  us  call  it  1840  then)  I 
was  apprised  by  Taylor  that  Wordsworth  had  come 
to  town,  and  would  meet  a  small  party  of  us  at  a 
certain  tavern  in  St.  James's  Street,  at  breakfast,  to 
which  I  was  invited  for  the  given  day  and  hour. 
.  .  .  Wordsworth  seemed  in  good  tone,  and, 
much  to   Taylor's   satisfaction,  talked  a  great  deal  ; 


'Afternoon  lectures  on  English  literature  and  art,  delivered  in 
Dublin.      5  vols.,  i2mo.      London,  1863-69. 


Conversa- 
tion. 


22 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


Conversa- 
tion. 


A  cood  lis- 
tener. 


about  "  poetic  "  correspondents  of  his  own  (/.(?., 
correspondents  for  the  sake  of  his  poetry ;  espe- 
cially one  such  who  had  sent  him,  from  Canton,  an 
excellent  chest  of  tea  ;  correspondent  grinningly 
applauded  by  us  all)  ;  then  about  ruralities  and 
miscellanies.  .  .  .  These  were  the  first  topics. 
Then,  finally,  about  literature,  literary  laws,  prac- 
tices, observances,  at  considerable  length,  and  turn- 
ing wholly  on  the  mechanical  part,  including  even 
a  good  deal  of  shallow  enough  etymology,  from  me 
and  others,  which  was  well  received.  On  all  this 
Wordsworth  enlarged  with  evident  satisfaction,  and 
was  joyfully  reverent  of  the  "wells  of  English  un- 
defiled,"  though  stone-dumb  as  to  the  deeper  rules 
and  wells  of  Eternal  Truth  and  Harmony,  which 
you  were  to  try  and  set  forth  by  said  undefiled  wells 
of  English,  or  w^hat  other  speech  you  had  !  To  me 
a  little  disappointing,  but  not  much  ;  though  it 
would  have  given  me  pleasure  had  the  robust  vet- 
eran man  emerged  a  little  out  of  vocables  into  things 
now  and  then,  as  he  never  once  chanced  to  do.  For 
the  rest,  he  talked  well  in  liis  wav  ;  with  veracitv, 
easy  brevity,  and  force,  as  a  wise  tradesman  would 
of  his  tools  and  workshop,  and  as  no  unwise  one 
could. — Thomas  Carlyle  ("  Reminiscences  "). 

He  was  a  patient  and  courteous  listener,  paying 
the  most  scrupulous  attention  to  every  word,  never 
interrupting,  and  with  a  certain  fixedness  of  his 
clear  grey  eyes  which  made  one  feel  that,  whatever 
one's  opinion  might  be,  one  must  be  prepared  to 
give  a  substantial  reason  for  it,  and,  in  doing  so,  to 
discard  all   that  might  seem  fanciful,  and  not  to  be 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


23 


readily  explained. — Mrs.  Alaric  Watts  ("  Life  of 
Watts  ")/ 

I  revert  with  great  delight  to  a  long  expedition  I 
one  day  made  with  Wordsworth  alone.  He  had 
heard  of  the  ruins  of  an  old  Cistercian  abbey,  Heis- 
terbach,  on  the  side  of  the  Rhine  opposite  to  that 
on  which  we  were  staying.  He  asked  me,  playfully, 
to  join  him,  in  these  words  : 

"Go  with  us  into  the  abbey — there  ; 
And  let  us  there,  at  large,  discourse  our  fortunes." 

Hitherto  I  had  only  seen  Wordsworth  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Coleridge  ;  and  had  imagined  him,  consti- 
tutionally contemplative  and  taciturn.  To-day  I 
discovered  that  his  reticence  was  self-imposed,  out 
of  consideration  for  the  inordinate  loquacity  of  his 
brother  poet. 

Coleridge  always  speechified  or  preached, 

' '  His  argument 
Was  all  too  heavy  to  admit  much  talk.'''' 

Wordsworth  chatted  naturally  and  fluently,  out  of 
the  fulness  of  his  heart,  and  not  from  a  wish  to 
display  his  eloquence.  .  .  .  Idolatry  of  nature 
seemed  with  Wordsworth  both  a  passion  and  a  prin- 
ciple. .  .  .  On  that  same  stroll  of  Heisterbach, 
he  pointed  out  to  me  such  beauty  of  design  in 
objects  I  had  used  to  trample  under  foot,  that  I  felt 
as  if  almost  every  spot  on  which  I  trod  was  holy 
ground,  and  that  I  had  rudely  desecrated  it.  His 
eyes  would  fill  with  tears,  and  his  voice  falter,  as  he 


1  Watts  (Alaric  Alfred).      Alaric  Watts. 
Life.     2  vols.,  8vo.  London,  1884. 


A  Narrative  of  his 


A  coujitry 
ivaUi. 


24 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


dwelt  on  tlie  benevolent  adaptation  of  means  to 
ends  discernible  by  reverential  observation.' — Julian 
C.  Young  ("Memoir  of  C.  M.  Young").' 

His  reading  is  very  peculiar,  but,  to  my  ear,  de- 
lightful ;  slow,  solemn,  earnest  in  expression,  more 
than  any  I  have  ever  heard  ;  when  he  reads  or  re- 
cites in  the  open  air,  his  deep,  rich  tones  seem  to 
proceed  from  a  spirit-voice,  and  belong  to  the  re- 
ligion of  the  place  ;  they  harmonize  so  fitly  with  the 
thrilling  tones  of  woods  and  waterfalls. — Felicia  D. 
Hemans  ("  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Hemans)."  ' 


Keaditig 
aloud. 


Hazlitt,  in  **  The  Spirit  of  the  Age,"  says,  "  His 
manner  of  reading  his  own  poetry  is  particularly 
imposing."  Barry  Cornwall  also  describes  his  read- 
ing, see  p.  32. 

Lord  Cranbrook,  in  an  article  published  in  the 
National  Review,  April,  1884,  reports  Wilson  as 
follows  :  "  How  strange  a  contrast  there  is  between 
Campbell's  recitation  and  Wordsworth's — the  for- 
mer in  a  thin  weak  voice,  settling  now  and  then  the 
curls  of  his  wig,  reciting  without  power  his  greatest 
lyrics  ;  Wordsworth,  with  a  severe  and  simple  dig- 


'  See  also  pages  73,  74.  It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  Southey, 
who  was  familiar  with  all  the  best  talkers  of  his  time,  said  of 
Wordsworth,  "In  conversation  he  is  powerful  beyond  any  of  his 
cotemporaries."  These  words  occur  in  a  letter  from  Southey  to 
Bernard  Barton,  in  1814. 

'  Young  (Rev.  Julian  Charles).  A  Memoir  of  Charles  M.  Young, 
Tragedian,  with  Extracts  from  his  Son's  Journal.  l2mo.  London 
and  New  York,  1871. 

'  Hemans  (Felicia  D.).  Poetical  Works.  With  a  Memoir  by  her 
Sister,  Mrs.  Hughes.     7  vols.,  i2mo.      London,  1839. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


25 


nity  giving  a  tone  to  his  recitation,  which  has  often 
after  hearing  him  on  a  hill-side  walk,  thrilled  nae 
for  days  after.  He  has  the  most  remarkable  power, 
in  that  way,  of  any  man  I  ever  heard.  It  seemed 
•  like  inspiration,  and  I  could  almost  imagine  that  he 
spoke  by  revelation."  Lord  Cranbrook's  interview 
with  "Christopher  North,"  was  in  1843,  when 
Campbell  and  Wordsworth  were  still  alive. 

In  a  letter  to  Wordsworth,  Lamb  says,  "  Tell  Mrs. 
W.  her  postscripts  are  always  agreeable.  They  are 
so  legible,  too.  Your  manual-graphy  is  terrible, 
dark  as  Lycophron.  .  .  .  Well,  God  bless  you, 
and  continue  to  give  you  power  to  write  with  a  finger 
of  power  upon  our  hearts  what  you  fail  to  impress, 
in  corresponding  lucidness,  upon  our  outward  eye- 
sight." 

Wordsworth  never  wrote,  if  he  could  help  it  ;  his 
wife  and  his  sister  were  his  amanuenses.  In  a  let- 
ter of  1803,  to  Sir  George  Beaumont,  quoted  in  the 
'•  Memoirs,"  he  says  "  I  do  not  know  from  what 
cause  it  is,  but  during  the  last  three  years  I  have 
never  had  a  pen  in  my  hand  for  five  minutes,  before 
my  whole  frame  becomes  one  bundle  of  uneasiness  ; 
a  perspiration  starts  out  all  over  me,  and  my  chest 
is  oppressed  in  a  manner  which  I  cannot  describe." 

Almost  all  his  poems,  as  I  have  heard  from  him- 
self, were  composed  out  of  doors,  as  he  either  freely 
traversed  hill  and  vale,  or  paced  some  favorite  level 
strip,  such  as  that  at  Lancrigg,  or  that  in  the  fir- 
grove  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  his  brother,  or 
a  terrace  in  his  garden And  sometimes 


Rending 
aloud. 


Hand- 
7vriting. 


Writing 

painful  to 

hint. 


Work  out- 
of-doors. 


26 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


Work  out- 
of-doors. 


No  musical 

ea7 — No 

sense  of 

smtU. 


Impatience. 


weeks  elapsed  before  the  poems  thus  composed 
were  committed  to  paper,  a  process  which  was  gen- 
erally performed  by  the  hand  of  wife,  or  sister,  or 
daughter. — Robert  P.  Graves  ("  Recollections  of 
Wordsworth"). 

Wordsworth  had  himself  no  musical  sense,  no 
more  than  any  sense  of  smell.  His  sense  of  hearing, 
indeed,  as  well  as  of  sight,  was  peculiarly  keen,  but 
like  his  friend  Elia,  he  could  not  distinguish  one 
tune  from  another. — Robert  P.  Graves  ("  Recollec- 
tions of  Wordsworth"). 

In  speaking  of  music,  and  the  difference  there  is 
between  the  poetical  and  musical  ear,  Wordsworth 
said  that  he  was  totally  devoid  of  the  latter,  and  for 
a  long  time  could  not  distinguish  one  tune  from 
another, — Thomas  Moore  ("  Diary"). 

Wordsworth  took  down  the  volume  ;  unfortunate- 
ly it  was  uncut  ;  fortunately,  and  by  a  special  provi- 
dence as  to  him,  tea  was  proceeding  at  the  time. 
Dry  toast  required  butter  ;  butter  required  knives  ; 
and  knives  then  lay  on  the  table  ;  but  sad  it  was 
for  the  virgin  purity  of  Mr.  Burke's  yet  unsunned 
pages,  that  every  knife  bore  upon  its  blade  testimo- 
nies of  the  service  it  had  rendered.  Did  that  stop 
Wordsworth  ?  Did  that  cause  him  to  call  for  an- 
other knife  ?     Not  at  all  ;  he 

"Looked  at  the  knife  that  caus'd  his  pain; 
And  looked  and  sighed,  and  looked  and  sighed  again  ;" 

and  then,  after  this  momentary  tribute  to  regret,  he 
tore  his  way  into  the  heart  of  the  volume  with  this 
knife,  that   left   its  greasy  honors  behind  it  upon 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


27 


every  page  :  and  are  they  not   there  to   this  day  ? 
— Thomas  De  Quincey  (''Literary Reminiscences"). 

At  this  period  (1807)  Southey  and  Wordsworth 
entertained  a  mutual  esteem,  but  did  not  cordially 
like  each  other.  Indeed,  it  would  have  been  odd  if 
they  had.  Wordsworth  lived  in  the  open  air  ; 
Southey  in  his  library,  which  Coleridge  used  to  call 
his  wife.  Southey  had  particularly  elegant  habits 
(Wordsworth  called  them  finical)  in  the  use  of  books. 
Wordsworth,  on  the  other  hand,  was  so  negligent, 
and  so  indulgent  in  the  same  case,  that,  as  Southey 
laughingly  expressed  it  to  me  some  years  afterwards, 
when  I  was  staying  at  Greta  Hall  on  a  visit — ''  To 
introduce  Wordsworth  into  one's  library,  is  like 
letting  a  bear  into  a  tulip  garden." — Thomas  De 
Quincey  ("  Literary  Reminiscences"). 

Wordsworth  and  Dickens  did  not  take  to  each 
■other.  Indeed,  there  was  a  mutual  contempt  be- 
them,  although  they  met  only  once.  This  was  about 
the  year  1843.  Some  days  after,  the  gentleman 
whose  guest  Wordsworth  was,  in  the  suburbs  of 
London,  asked  the  Poet,  how  he  liked  the  great 
Novelist  ?  Wordsworth  had  a  great  contempt  for 
young  men,  and,  after  pursing  up  his  lips  in  a  fash- 
ion peculiar  to  him,  and  swinging  one  leg  over  the 
other,  the  bare  flesh  of  his  ankles  appearing  over 
his  socks,  slowly  answered :  "  Why,  I  am  not  much 
given  to  turn  critic  on  people  I  meet ;  but,  as  you 
ask  me,  I  will  candidly  avow  that  I  thought  him  a 
very  talkative,  vulgar  young  person, — but  I  dare 
say  he  may  be  very  clever.     Mind,  I  don't  want  to 


Contrast 

betiveen 

Wotds- 

•zvorth  and 

Southey. 


Mutual 
antipathies. 


28 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


ATutual 
antipathies. 


Itnpatience 
of  con- 
straint. 


say  a  word  against  him,  for  I  have  never  read  a  line 
he  has  written."  Some  time  after  this,  the  same 
querist  guardedly  asked  Dickens  how  he  had  liked 
the  Poet  Laureate  ?— "  Like  him?  Not  at  all.  He 
is  a  dreadful  Old  Ass." — R.  Shelton  Mackenzie 
("Life  of  Dickens").' 

I  do  not  conceive  that  Wordsworth  could  have 
been  an  amiable  boy  ;  he  was  austere  and  unsocial, 
I  have  reason  to  think,  in  his  habits  ;  not  generous  ; 
and,  above  all,  not  self-denying.  Throughout  his 
later  life,  wnth  all  the  benefits  of  a  French  discipline 
in  the  lesser  charities  of  social  intercourse,  he  has 
always  exhibited  a  marked  impatience  of  those  par- 
ticular courtesies  of  life.  Not  but  he  was  kind  and 
obliging  where  his  services  would  cost  him  no  exer- 
tion ;  but  I  am  pretty  certain  that  no  consideration 
would  ever  have  induced  Wordsworth  to  burthen 
himself  with  a  lady's  reticule,  parasol,  shawl,  or  any 
thing  that  was  hers.  Mighty  must  be  the  danger 
which  would  induce  him  to  lead  her  horse  by  the 
bridle.  Nor  would  he,  without  some  demur,  stop 
to  ofifer  her  his  hand  over  a  stile.'  Freedom — un- 
limited, careless,  insolent  freedom — unoccupied  pos- 
session of  his  own  arms— absolute  control  over  his 
own  legs  and  motions — these  have  always  been  so 
essential  to  his  comfort,  that  in  any  case  where  theyj 
were  likely  to  become  questionable,  he  would  have] 
declined  to  make  one  of  the  party. — Thomas  De 
QuiNCEY  ("Literary  Reminiscences").  ' 

'  Mackenzie  (Robert  Shelton).    Life  of  Charles  Dickens.     i2mo. 
Philadelphia,  1870. 

*  For  a  quite  different  view,  see  p.  50. 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


29 


In  the  country  he  would  walk  with  you,  talk  with 
you,  and  seem  gratified  with  your  society ;  but, 
somehow  or  other,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  were 
ready  to  relapse,  become  wrapt  up  in  speculation, 
and  would  rather  prefer  being  left  to  commune  with 
himself.  .  .  .  On  his  visits  to  town,  the  recluse 
of  Rydal  Mount  was  quite  a  different  creature. 
To  me  it  was  demonstrated,  by  his  conduct  under 
every  circumstance,  that  De  Quincey  .  .  .  had 
done  him  gross  injustice  in  the  character  he  loosely 
threw  upon  the  public,  viz.,  that  "he  was  not  gen- 
erous or  self-denying  .  .  .  ;"  and  farther,  that 
he  was  "  slovenly  and  regardless  in  dress."  I  must 
protest  that  there  was  no  warrant  for  this  carica- 
ture ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  bore  no  feature 
of  resemblance  to  the  slight  degree  of  eccentricity 
discoverable  in  Cumberland,  and  was  utterly  con- 
tradicted by  the  life  in  London.  In  the  mixed  so- 
ciety of  the  great  Babylon,  Mr.  Wordsworth  was 
facile  and  courteous  ;  dressed  like  a  gentleman,  and 
with  his  tall,  commanding  figure — no  mean  type  of 
the  superior  order,  well  trained  by  education  and 
accustomed  to  good  manners — shall  I  reveal  that 
he  was  often  sportive,  and  could  even  go  the  length 
of  strong  (whatever  invidiousness  might  say,  not 
vulgar)  expressions  in  the  off-hand  mirth  of  his  ob- 
servations and  criticisms  ? — William  Jerdan  ("  Men 
I  have  Known  ").' 

Among  convivial  spirits  no  one  could  be  more 
joyous  than  Wordsworth  ;  no  one  could  enter  more 
heartily  and  readily  into  the  humors  of  the  passing 

'  Jerdan  (William).     Men  I  have  Known.     8vo.   London,  1866. 


Tomn  man- 
ners. 


30 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


Social  and 
ginial. 


Alone  in  a 
crowd. 


hour  ;  and  among  eminent  authors  no  one  could 
ever  be  found  more  willing  than  he  was  to  make  al- 
lowances for  the  faults  of  others,  or  to  afford  in- 
struction whenever  he  met  with  a  pupil  whose  at- 
tachment to  literature  was  not  founded  on  vanity 
or  affectation. — Robert  P.  Gillies'  ("  Memoirs  of  a 
Literary  Veteran  "). 

The  light  was  always  afflictive  to  his  eyes  ; '  he 
carried  in  his  pocket  something  like  a  skeleton  brass 
candlestick,  in  which,  setting  it  on  the  dinner  table, 
between  him  and  the  most  afflictive  or  nearest  of  the 
chief  lights,  he  touched  a  little  spring,  and  there 
flirted  out,  at  the  top  of  his  brass  implement,  a  small 
vertical  green  circle  which  prettily  enough  threw 
his  eyes  into  shade,  and  screened  him  from  that 
sorrow.  In  proof  of  his  equanimity  as  lion,  I  re- 
member, in  connection  with  this  green  shade,  one 
little  glimpse  which  shall  be  given  presently  as 
finis.  .  .  .  Dinner  was  large,  luminous,  sumptu- 
ous. I  sat  a  long  way  from  Wordsworth  ;  dessert  I 
think  had  come  in,  and  certainly  there  reigned  in  all 
quarters  a  cackle  as  of  Babel  (only  politer,  perhaps), 
which,  far  up  in  Wordsworth's  quarter  (who  was 
leftward  on  my  side  of  the  table),  seemed  to  have 
takena  sententious,  rather  louder,  logical,  and  quasi- 

'  Gillies  (Robert  Pearce).  Memoirs  of  a  Literary  Veteran.  3  vols., 
l2mo.    London,   1854- 

'  In  a  letter  to  Caroline  Bowles,  Southey  says  of  Wordsworth, 
"for  m.iny  years  he  has  been  subject  to  frequent  and  severe  in- 
flammation  of  the  lids.  .  .  .  Any  emotion  immediately  af- 
fects the  diseased  parts  ;  the  excitement  of  conversation  is  suffi- 
cient for  the  evil." 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


31 


scientific  turn,  heartily  unimportant  to  gods  and 
men,  so  far  as  I  could  judge  of  it  and  of  the  other 
babble  reigning.  I  look  upwards,  leftwards,  the 
coast  being  luckily  for  a  moment  clear  ;  then,  far 
off,  beautifully  screened  in  the  shadow  of  his  verti- 
cal green  circle,  which  was  on  the  farther  side  of 
him,  sat  Wordsworth,  silent,  slowly  but  steadily 
gnawing  some  portion  of  what  I  judged  to  be  raisins, 
with  his  eye  and  attention  placidly  fixed  on  these 
and  these  alone.  The  sight  of  whom,  and  of  his 
rock-like  indifference  to  the  babble,  quasi-scientific 
and  other,  with  attention  turned  on  the  small  prac- 
tical alone,  was  comfortable  and  amusing  to  me, 
who  felt  like  him,  but  could  not  eat  raisins. — Thomas 
Carlyle  ("Reminiscences  "). 

The  shake  of  hand  he  gives  you  is  feckless,  ego- 
tistical. .  .  .  The  languid  way  in  which  he  gives 
you  a  handful  of  numb,  unresponsive  fingers,  is 
very  significant. — Thomas  Carlyle  (from  a  letter 
quoted  in  Froude's  "  Carlyle").' 

He  is  more  simple  in  his  manners  than  his  friend 
Mr.  Coleridge  ;  but  at  the  same  time  less  cordial  or 
.  .  There  is  an  air  of  condescen- 
his  civility.  With  a  tall,  loose  figure,  a 
peaked  austerity  of  countenance,  and  no  inclination 
to  embonpoint,  you  would  say  he  has  something  pu- 
ritanical, something  ascetic  in  his  appearance. — 
William  Hazlitt  ("  Spirit  of  the  Age  "). 


conciliating, 


sion   m 


Alone  in  a 
croivd. 


Manner  of 
shaking 
hands. 


Austerity. 


'  Froude  (James  A.).   Thomas  Carlyle.  A  History  of  his  Life  in 
London.     2  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1884. 


32 


WILLI  A  M    WORDS  WOR  TH. 


An  apology 

/or  his  cold- 

fiess 


Solemnity — 

A  touch  of 

humor. 


An  ungenial  coldness  of  manner  has  been  often 
ascribed  to  him.  And,  indeed,  when  a  friend  entered 
his  room  he  might  often  be  disappointed  by  an  ap- 
parently uninterested  recognition  and  a  want  of  cor- 
diality. The  fact  was,  that  the  earnestness  with 
which  his  intellect  worked  rendered  it  impossible 
for  him  quickly  to  turn  from  one  object  of  thought 
to  another :  never  was  a  man  of  less  versatility  or 
mobility:  yet  just  for  this  very  reason  the  friend 
might  be  perfectly  assured  that  if  he  gave  the  poet 
time  to  pass  out  from  the  train  of  reflection  which  had 
engaged  him,  the  habitual  feeling  of  friendship  would 
gradually  more  and  more  brighten  his  countenance, 
and  the  old  cordiality  warm  the  tones  of  his  voice. — 
Robert  P.  Graves  ("Recollections  of  Wordsworth  "), 

I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  Wordsworth,  who 
was  a  very  grave  man,  with  strong  features  and 
a  deep  voice.  .  .  .  He  was  fond  (perhaps  too 
fond)  of  reciting  his  own  poetry  before  friends  and 
strangers.  I  was  not  attracted  by  his  manner, 
which  was  almost  too  solemn,  but  I  was  deeply  im- 
pressed by  some  of  the  weighty  notes  in  his  A'oice, 
when  he  was  delivering  out  his  oracles.  ...  I 
remembered  the  reading  long  afterwards,  as  one 
recollects  the  roll  of  the  spent  thunder.     .     .     . 

Hazlitt  says  that  Wordsworth's  face,  notwithstand- 
ing his  constitutional  gravity,  sometimes  revealed 
indications  of  dry  humor.  And  once,  at  a  morning 
visit,  I  heard  him  give  an  account  of  his  having 
breakfasted  in  company  with  Coleridge,  and  allowed 
him  to  expatiate  to  the  extent  of  his  lungs.  "  How 
could  you  permit  him  to  go  on  and  weary  himself  ?" 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


33 


said  Rogers  ;  "why,  you  are  to  meet  him  at  dinner 
this  evening."  *'  Yes,"  replied  Wordsworth  ;  "  I 
know  that  very  well ;  but  we  like  to  take  the  sting 
out  of  him  beforehand."  ' — Bryan  W.  Procter 
C'  Charles  Lamb  ;  a  Memoir").' 

At  a  friend's  house,  after  dinner,  the  conversation 
turned  upon  wit  and  humor.  The  author  of  Lalla 
Rookh,  who  was  present,  gave  some  illustrations 
from  Sheridan's  saying,  doings,  and  writings.  Start- 
ing from  his  reverie,  Wordsworth  said  that  he  did 
not  consider  himself  to  be  a  witty  poet  :  "  Indeed," 
continued  he,  "  I  do  not  think  I  was  ever  witty  but 
once  in  my  life."  A  great  desire  was  naturally  ex- 
pressed by  all  to  know  what  this  special  drollery 
was.  After  some  hesitation,  the  old  poet  said, 
"Well,  well,  I  will  tell  you.  I  was  standing  some 
time  ago  _^t  tlie  entrance  of  my  cottage  at  Rydal 
Mount.  A  man  accosted  me  with  the  question, 
*  Pray,  sir,  have  you  seen  my  wife  pass  by  ? '  Whei"e- 
upon  I  said,  *  Why,  my  good  friend,  I  didn't  know  till 
this  moment  that  you  had  a  wife  ! '  "  The  company 
stared,  and  finding  that  the  old  bard  had  discharged 
his  entire  stock,  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  which 
the  facetious  Wordsworth,  in  his  simplicity,  accepted 
as  a  genuine  compliment  to  the  brilliancy  of  his 
wit. — Samuel  A.  Allibone  ("Dictionary").' 

'  This  is  the  only  instance  which  has  been  recorded  of  a  joke 
from  Wordsworth. 

^  Procter  (Bryan  Waller).  Charles  Lamb  ;  a  Memoir.  8vo.  Lon- 
don, 1866. 

2  Allibone  (Samuel  Austin).  Critical  Dictionary  of  English  Lit- 
erature, and  British  and  American  Authors.  3  vols.,  Svo.  Philadel- 
phia, 1859-71. 

in. -3 


Solemnity — 

A  touch  0/ 

humor. 


An  ejcamJyU 

of  Words- 

wortUs  ivit. 


34 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


Jncaf>able  of 
a  joke. 


"  He  had  a 

/rugnl 
inittd" 


He  is  moral,  grave,  good-natured,  and  of  kindly 
intercourse.  He  does  not  understand  a  joke,  but 
requires  it  to  be  explained  ;  after  which  he  looks 
uneasy.  It  is  not  his  point.  He  sees  nothing  in  it. 
The  thing  is  not,  and  cannot  be  made  Wordsworth- 
ian. — Richard  H.  Horne  ("New  Spirit  of  the  Age").' 

After  the  trio'  had  left  Gedsburgh,  and  were  re- 
turning homewards  via  Amsterdam  and  Rotterdam, 
they  paid  a  visit  to  Haarlem.  Mrs.  Aders  received 
a  letter  from  Coleridge,  dated  from  that  place,  in 
which  he  told  her  that  they  had  not  arrived  many 
minutes  at  their  hotel  before  one  of  the  principal 
waiters  of  the  establishment  entered  the  room,  and 
asked  them  if  they  would  like  to  accompany  a  few 
other  persons  in  the  house  to  hear  the  celebrated 
organ  played,  as  a  party  was  then  in  the  act  of  form- 
ing. 

"Oh,"  said  Wordsworth,  "we  meant  to  hear  the 
organ  !  but  why,  Coleridge,  should  we  go  with 
strangers  ?  "  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  the 
waiter,  who  understood  and  spoke  English  well, 
"  but  it  is  not  every  one  who  is  willing  to  pay  twelve 
guilders  (i/.)  ;  and  as  the  organist  will  never  play 
privately  for  less,  it  is  customary  for  persons  to  go 
in  parties,  and  share  the  expense  between  them." 
"Ah,  then  I  think  I  will  not  go  :  I  am  tired,"  said 
Wordsworth.  "Then  you  and  I  will  go  together, 
Dora,"  said  Coleridge.  Off  they  went,  arm-in-arm, 
leaving  Wordsworth  behind  them. 


'  Home  (Richard  Hengist).     A  New  Spirit  of  the  Age.     2  vols., 
8vo.     London,  1844. 

"^  Wordsworth,  his  daughter,  and  Coleridge. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


35 


They  had  not  been  long  in  the  Church  of  St.  Ba- 
von,  listening  to  the  different  stops  which  the 
organist  was  trying  to  display  to  the  greatest  ad- 
vantage— the  solo  stops,  the  bell  stops,  the  trumpet 
stop,  the  vox  humana  stop — before  Coleridge  was 
made  sensible  of  the  unwelcome  intrusion  of  a 
strong  current  of  air  throughout  the  building.  He 
turned  his  head  to  see  the  cause  ;  and,  to  his  amuse- 
ment, descried  his  gentle  friend,  noiselessly  closing 
the  door,  and  furtively  making  his  way  behind  one 
of  the  pillars,  from  whence  he  could  hear  without 
being  seen,  and  thus  escape  payment.  Before  the 
organist  had  concluded  his  labors,  Wordsworth  had 
quietly  withdrawn.  On  the  return  of  his  friend 
and  his  daughter,  he  asked  them  how  they  had  en- 
joyed their  visit  to  St.  Bavon,  but  said  nothing  of 
his  own  ! ' — Julian  C.  Young  ("  Memoir  of  C.  M. 
Young  "). 

He  told  me  I  should  find  visitors  a  great  expense, 
and  that  I  must  promise  him, — (and  he  laid  his 
hand  on  my  arm  to  enforce  what  he  said)  I  must 
promise  him  to  do  as  he  and  his  sister  had  done, 
when,  in  their  early  days,  they  had  lived  at  Gras- 
mere. 

"When  you  have  a  visitor,"  said  he,  "you  must 
do  as  Ave  did  ; — you  must  say  '  if  you  like  to  have  a 
cup  of  tea  with  us,  you  are  very  welcome  :  but  if 
you  want  any  meat, — you  must  pay  for  your  board.' 


'  Caroline  Fox,  in  her  "Memories  of  Old  Friends,"  tells  of  a 
conversation  with  Hartley  Coleridge,  in  which  he  said  that  Words- 
worth was  ' '  a  most  unpleasant  companion  in  a  tour,  from  his  ter- 
rible fear  of  being  cheated." 


' '  He  had  a 
frugal 
mind" 


Household 
economy. 


36 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


Household 
economy. 


Pride  and 
arrogiince. 


Now  promise  me  that  you  will  do  this."  Of  course, 
I  could  promise  nothing  of  the  sort.  .  .  .  He 
insisted  :  I  declined  promising ;  and  changed  the 
subject.  The  mixture  of  odd  economies  and  neigh- 
borly generosity  was  one  of  the  most  striking  things 
in  the  old  poet.  At  tea  there,  one  could  hardly  get 
a  drop  of  cream  with  any  ease  of  mind,  while  he 
was  giving  away  all  the  milk  that  the  household  did 
not  want  to  neighboring  cottages.' — Harriet  Mar- 
TiNEAU  ("Autobiography").* 

Mr.  Wordsworth  is  not  only  a  man  of  principle 
and  integrity,  according  to  the  severest  standard  of 
such  a  character,  but  even  a  man,  in  many  respects, 
of  amiable  manners.  Still  there  are  traits  of  char- 
acter about  him,  and  modes  of  expressing  them  in 
his  manners,  which  make  a  familiar  or  neighborly 
intercourse  with  him  painful  and  mortifying.  Pride, 
in  its  most  exalted  form,  he  was  entitled  to  feel  ; 
but  something  there  was,  in  the  occasional  expres- 
sion of  this  pride,  which  was  difficult  to  bear.  Upon 
ground  where  he  was  really  strong,  Wordsworth 
was  not  arrogant.  In  a  question  of  criticism,  he 
was  open  to  any  man's  suggestions.  But  there  7vere 
fields  of  thought  or  of  observation  which  he  seemed 
to  think  locked  up  and  sacred  to  himself  ;  and  any 
alien  entrances  upon  those  fields  he  treated  almost 
as  intrusions  and  usurpations. 

'  Wordsworth's  manner  of  living  was  always  extremely  plain. 
He  was  a  water-drinker ;  and  there  is  no  record  of  his  having 
made  use  of  any  kind  of  stimulants. 

^  Martineau  (Harriet).  Aulol)iography.  Edited  byM.  W.  Chap- 
man.    2  vols.,  8vo.     Boston  :  Huugliton,  Mifflin,  &  Co.    1877. 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


37 


One  of  these,  and  which  naturally  occurred  the 
most  frequently,  was  the  whole  theory  of  picturesque 
beauty,  as  presented  to  our  notice  every  minute  by 
the  bold,  mountainous  scenery  amongst  which  we 
lived,  and  as  it  happened  to  be  modified  by  the  sea- 
sons of  the  year,  by  the  time  of  day,  or  by  the  acci- 
dents of  light  and  shade.  Now  Wordsworth  and  his 
sister  really  had  ...  a  peculiar  depth  of  or- 
ganic sensibility  to  the  effects  of  form  and  color ; 
and  to  them  I  was  willing  to  concede  a  vote,  such  as 
in  ancient  Rome  was  called  "a  prerogative  vote," 
upon  such  questions.  But,  not  content  with  this, 
Wordsworth  virtually  claimed  the  same  precedence 
for  all  who  were  connected  with  himself,  though 
merely  by  affinity,  and  therefore  standing  under  no 
colorable  presumption  (as  blood  relations  might 
have  done)  of  inheriting  the  same  constitutional 
gifts  of  organization.  To  everybody,  standing  out 
of  this  sacred  and  privileged  pale,  Wordsworth  be- 
haved with  absolute  insult  in  cases  of  this  nature  ; 
he  did  not  even  appear  to  listen  ;  but,  as  if  what 
tliey  said  on  such  a  theme  must  be  childish  prattle, 
turned  away  with  an  air  of  perfect  indifference  ; 
began  talking,  perhaps,  with  another  person  on 
another  subject  ;  or,  at  all  events,  never  noticed 
what  we  said  by  an  apology  for  an  answer.  I,  very 
early  in  our  connection,  having  observed  this  in- 
human arrogance,  took  care  never  afterwards  to 
lay  myself  under  the  possibility  of  such  an  insult. 
Systematically  I  avoided  saying  anything,  however 
tempted  into  any  expression  of  my  feelings,  upon 
the  natural  appearances,  whether  in  the  sky  or  upon 
the  earth.     Thus  I  evaded  one  cause  of  quarrel ;  and 


Pride  and 
arrogance. 


38 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


Umvilling 

to  hear 
argument. 


Fr'ic-soii's 
visit. 


SO  far  Wordsworth  was  not  aware  of  the  irritation 
and  disgust  which  he  had  founded  in  the  minds  of 
his  friends.  But  there  were  other  manifestations  of 
the  same  ungenial  and  exclusive  pride,  even  still 
more  offensive  and  of  wider  application. 

With  other  men,  upon  finding  or  thinking  oneself 
ill-used,  all  one  had  to  do  was  to  make  an  explana- 
tion. .  .  .  Not  so  with  Wordsworth ;  he  had 
learned  .  .  .  a  vulgar  phrase  for  all  attempts  at 
reciprocal  explanations — he  called  them  conteuiptu- 
ously  '■'■fending  and  proving.''  And  you  might  lay 
your  account  with  being  met  in  limine.,  and  further 
progress  barred,  by  a  declaration  to  this  effect — 
"  Mr.  X.  Y.  Z.,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  fend- 
ing and  proving."  This  amounted,  in  other  words, 
to  saying,  that  he  conceived  himself  to  be  liberated 
from  those  obligations  of  justice  and  courtesy  by 
which  other  men  are  bound.  .  .  .  Never  after 
the  first  year  or  so  from  my  first  introduction,  had  I 
felt  much  possibility  of  drawing  the  bonds  of  friend- 
ship tight  with  a  man  of  Wordsworth's  nature.  He 
seemed  to  me  too  much  like  his  own  Pedlar  in  the 
•'  Excursion  ;  "  a  man  so  diffused  amongst  innumer- 
able objects  of  equal  attention,  that  he  had  no  calls 
left  in  his  heart  for  strong  individual  attachments.^ 
Thomas  De  Quincev  ("  Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

He  led  me  out  into  his  garden,  and  showed  me 
the  gravel  walk  in  which  thousands  of  his  lines  were 
composed.  ...  He  had  just  returned  from  a 
visit  to  Staffa,  and  within  three  days  had  made  three 
sonnets  on  Fingal's  Cave,  and  was  composing  a 
fourth,  wlien  he  was  called  in  to  see  me.     He  said, 


WILLTAM    WORDSWORTH. 


39 


"If  you  are  interested  in  my  verses,  perhaps  you 
will  like  to  hear  these  lines."  I  gladly  assented  ; 
and  he  recollected  himself  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  stood  forth  and  repeated,  one  after  the  other, 
the  three  entire  sonnets  with  great  animation. 
.  .  .  This  recitation  was  so  unlooked-for  and 
surprising — he,  the  old  Wordsworth,  standing  apart, 
and  reciting  to  me  in  a  garden-walk,  like  a  school- 
boy declaiming, — that  I  at  first  was  near  to  laugh  ; 
but  recollecting  myself,  that  I  had  come  thus  far  to 
see  a  poet,  and  he  was  chanting  poems  to  me,  I  saw 
that  he  was  right  and  I  was  wrong,  and  gladly  gave 
mvself  up  to  hear. — Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  ("  Eng- 
lish Traits  ").' 

Knowing  that  he  had  no  objection  to  be  talked 
to  about  his  works,  I  told  him  that  I  thought  it 
might  interest  him  to  hear  which  of  his  poems  was 
Dr.  Ciianning's  favorite.  I  told  him  that  I  had  not 
been  a  day  in  Dr.  Channing's  house  when  he  brought 
me  "The  Happy  Warrior," — (a  choice  which  I 
thought  very  characteristic  also).  "  Ay,"  said 
Wordsworth :  "  that  was  not  on  account  of  the 
poetic  conditions  being  best  fulfilled  in  that  poem  ; 
but  because  it  is  "  (solemnly)  "  a  chain  of  extremely 
valooable  thoughts. — You  see, — it  does  not  best  ful- 
fil the  conditions  of  poetry;  but  it  is"  (solemnly) 
"a  chain  of  extremely  valooable  thoughts." — Har- 
riet Martineau  ("  Autobiography  "). 

He  asked  me  what  I  thought  the  finest  elegiac 
composition  in  the  language  ;  and  when  I  diffidently 

'  Emerson  (Ralph  Waldo).     English  Traits.     i2mo.     Boston, 
1856. 


Emersion's 
visit. 


Literary 

egotism. 


40 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


Literary 
egotism. 


suggested  "  Lycidas,"  he  replied,  "  You  are  not  far 
wrong.  It  may,  I  think,  be  affirmed  that  Milton's 
'  Lycidas,'  and  my  '  Laodamia'  are  twin  immortals." 
—Mrs.  Alaric  Watts  ("  Life  of  Watts  "). 

Some  one  having  observed  that  the  next  Waverley 
novel  was  to  be  "  Rob  Roy,"  Wordsworth  took  down 
his  volume  of  Ballads,  and  read  to  the  company 
"  Rob  Roy's  Grave  ; "  then,  returning  it  to  the 
shelf,  observed — "  I  do  not  know  what  more  Mr. 
Scott  can  have  to  say  upon  the  subject."  .  .  . 
Mr.  James  T.  Fields,  in  his  delightful  volume  of 
"  Yesterdays  with  Authors,"  has  an  amiable  record 
of  his  interview  with  Wordsworth  ;  yet  he  has  the 
following  casual  remark,  "  I  thought  he  did  not 
praise  easily  those  whose  names  are  indissolubly 
connected  with  his  own  in  the  history  of  literature. 
It  was  languid  praise,  at  least,  and  I  observed  that 
he  hesitated  for  mild  terms  which  he  could  apply 
to  names  almost  as  great  as  his  own." — Charles 
CowDEN  Clarke  {Gentleman  s  Magazine.,  Februar}% 
1874). 

I  could  not  forbear  the  impression  that  his  sym- 
pathies were  rather  with  his  predecessors  than  his 
contemporaries  in  the  gentle  art.  I  observed  that 
he  rarely  left  a  commendation  of  the  latter  wholly 
unqualified  ;  so  that  the  effect  of  his  criticism  seemed 
to  be  rather  to  qualify  mercy  with  justice  than,  as  I 
should  rather  have  preferred,  to  temper  justice  with 
mercy. — Mrs,  Alaric  Watts  ("  Life  of  Watts"). 

After  a  while  he  (Professor  Wilson)  digressed 
to  Wordsworth  and  Southey,  and  asked  mc  if  I  was 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


41 


going  to  return  by  the  Lakes.  I  proposed  doing  so. 
"  I  will  give  you  letters  to  both,  if  you  haven't  them. 
I  lived  a  long  time  in  that  neighborhood,  and  know 
Wordsworth  perhaps  as  well  as  any  one.  Many 
a  day  I  have  walked  over  the  hills  with  him,  and  lis- 
tened to  his  repetition  of  his  own  poetry."     .     .     . 

"  Did  Wordsworth  repeat  any  other  poetry  than 
his  own  ?" 

"  Never  in  a  single  instance  to  my  knowledge. 
He  is  remarkable  for  the  manner  in  which  he  is 
wrapped  up  in  his  own  poetical  life."     .     .     . 

"  Was  the  story  true  that  was  told  in  the  papers 
of  his  seeing,  for  the  first  time,  in  a  large  company 
some  new  novel  of  Scott's,  in  which  there  was  a 
motto  taken  from  his  works  ;  and  that  he  went  im- 
mediately to  the  shelf  and  took  down  one  of  his  own 
volumes  and  read  the  whole  poem  to  the  party,  who 
were  waiting  for  a  reading  of  the  new  book  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  true.  It  happened  in  this  very  house." 
— Nathaniel  P.  Willis  ("  Famous  Persons  and 
Places").' 

Hare  '  says  that  notwithstanding  his  greatness  he 
really  and  heartily  admires  very  few  poets.  Milton 
and  Spenser — these  he  loves  and  appreciates — 
scarcely  any  other.  Hare  doubts  his  hearty  admi- 
ration of  Shakespeare.  Now,  as  Hare  loves  Words- 
worth, respects  him,  and  thinks  we  have  had  no  such 
poet  for  ages,  I  feel  quite  confident  in  what  he  says 
about  him,  that  he  does  not  misunderstand  or  mis- 

'  Willis    (Nathaniel    Parker).       Famous    Persons    and     Places. 
i2mo.     New  York:    Charles  Scribner.     1854. 
'Julius  (Archdeacon)  Hare. 


Christopher 

North  on  his 
es^otism. 


Slight  aj>- 

preciation 

of  other 

J>oets. 


42 


WILLI  A  M    WORDS  WOR  TIL 


A  personal 
con/ission. 


represent  him. — Daniel  Macmillan  (Letter  of  1842, 
in  Hughes's  "  Memoir  of  Macmillan  ").' 

I  presented  myself  at  Rydal  Mount  .  .  .  and 
found  the  poet  walking  in  his  garden.  .  .  .  He 
welcomed  me  very  courteously,  and  asked  me  to 
excuse  him  for  receiving  me  out  of  doors,  as  he  pre- 
ferred the  open  air.  .  .  .  He  suddenly  said,  I 
thought  somewhat  ungraciously, — "  I  am  told  that 
you  write  poetry.  I  never  read  a  line  of  your  poems 
and  don't  intend."  I  suppose  I  looked  surprised  at 
the  apparent  rudeness  of  this,  for  he  went  on  to  say, 
— "  You  must  not  be  offended  with  me  ;  the  truth 
is,  I  never  read  anvbody's  poetry  but  my  own." 
Again  I  suppose  my  face  must  have  expressed  what 
I  certainly  felt — a  slight  degree  of  wonder  at  a  dec- 
laration which  I  thought  so  very  gratuitous.  "  You 
must  not  be  surprised,"  he  added;  "for  it  is  not 
vanity  which  makes  me  say  this.  I  am  an  old  man, 
and  little  time  is  left  me  in  the  world.  I  use  that 
little  as  well  as  I  may,  to  revise  all  my  poems  care- 
fully, and  make  them  as  perfect  as  I  can  before  I 
take  my  final  departure." 

It  was  quite  evident  from  the  frankness  of  this 
explanation,  that  the  old  gentleman  did  not  mean 
to  wound  my  self-love  while  explaining  and  vindi- 
cating his  own.  .  .  .  Desiring  to  turn  the  con- 
versation, I  stopped  a  moment  in  our  walk  to  admire 
the  outline  of  the  picturesque  mountain  across  the 
lake,  and  pointing  to  it,  asked  him  its  name.  "  Dear 
me!"  he  replied,  "that's  Nab  Scaur.      Have  you 


'  Hughes  (Thomas). 
London,  1882. 


Memoir  of  Daniel  Macmillan.      i2mo. 


WILLI  A  M    WORDS  WOR  TIL 


43 


never  read  my  poems  ?  "  It  was  on  the  tip  of  my 
tongue  to  retort,  that  I  never  read  anybody's  poems 
but  my  own  ;  but  I  reflected  that  he  was  old  enough 
to  be  my  grandfather.  ...  So  I  refrained,  and 
listened  attentively  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have  described 
Nab  Scaur  more  than  once  in  my  poems.  Don't  you 
remember  the  following  ?  "  (And  here  he  recited,  in 
a  deep  base  voice,  a  passage  of  twenty  or  thirty 
lines,  which  was  entirely  nev/  to  me,  though  I  did 
not  like  to  tell  him  so.) — Charles  Mackay  ("  Forty 
Years'  Recollections").' 

It  chanced  one  night,  when  I  was  there,^  that 
there  was  a  resplendent  arch  across  the  zenith,  from 
the  one  horizon  to  the  other.  .  .  .  Well,  when 
word  came  into  the  room  of  tlie  splendid  meteor, 
we  all  went  out  to  view  it  ;  and,  on  the  beautiful 
platform  at  Mount  Rydal  we  were  all  walking,  in 
twos  and  threes,  arm  in  arm,  talking  of  the  phe- 
nomenon, and  admiring  it.  Now,  be  it  remembered 
that  Wordsworth,  Professor  Wilson,  Lloyd,  De  Quin- 
cey,  and  myself  were  present,  besides  several  other 
literary  gentlemen,  whose  names  I  am  not  certain 
that  I  remember  aright.  Miss  Wordsworth's  arm 
was  in  mine,  and  she  was  expressing  some  fears  that 
the  splendid  stranger  might  prove  ominous,  when  I, 
by  ill  luck,  blundered  out  the  following  remark, 
thinking  that  I  was  saying  a  good  thing  : — "  Hout, 
me'm  !  it  is  neither  raair  nor  less  than  joost  a  tree- 

'  Mackay  (Charles).     Forty  Years'  Recollections,  from  1830  to 
1870.    2  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1877. 
*  At  Wordsworth's  house. 


A  personal 
confession. 


'Where  are 
they  ?  " 


44 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


'  Where  are 
they?" 


Two  apolo- 
gists. 


umphal  airch,  raised  in  honor  of  the  meeting  of  the 
poets." 

''  That's  not  amiss, — eh  ?  eh  ? — that's  very  good," 
said  the  Professor,  laughing.  But  Wordswortli, 
who  had  De  Quincey's  arm,  gave  a  grunt,  and  turned 
on  his  heel,  and  leading  the  little  opium-chewer 
aside,  he  addressed  him  in  these  disdainful  and  ven- 
omous words: — "  Poets  ?  Poets  ? — what  does  the  fel- 
low mean  ? — ^Where  are  they  ?  " 

Who  could  forgive  this  ?  For  my  part  I  never 
can  and  never  will.  .  .  .  T\\q.  ^'' Where  are  they  V 
was  too  bad  !  I  have  always  some  hopes  that  De 
Quincey  w^isleeing,  for  I  did  not  myself  hear  Words- 
worth utter  the  words. — James  Hogg  ("  Reminis- 
cences").* 

He  did  not  intrude  his  own  poetry  or  himself, 
but  he  did  not  decline  to  talk  about  either  ;  and  he 
spoke  about  both  simply,  unboastingly,  and  yet 
with  a  manly  consciousness  of  their  worth.  It  was 
clear  he  thouglit  he  had  achieved  a  high  place 
among  poets  :  it  had  been  the  aim  of  his  life, 
humanly  speaking  ;  and  he  had  taken  worthy  pains 
to  accomplish  and  prepare  himself  for  the  enter- 
prise.— John  T.  Coleridge  (quoted  in  Wordsworth's 
"  Life  of  Wordsworth  "). 


May  Sth,  1812.  A  visit  from  Wordsworth,  who 
stayed  with  me  from  between  twelve  and  one  till  past 
three.  I  then  walked  with  him  to  Newman  Street. 
His  conversation  was  long  and  interesting.    He  spoke 

'  Hogg  (James).  Poetical  Works.  With  Autobiography.  5  vols., 
i6mo.     Glasgow,  1838-1840. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


45 


of  his  own  poems  with  the  just  feeling  of  confi- 
dence which  a  sense  of  his  own  excellence  gives  him. 
He  is  now  convinced  that  he  never  can  derive  emol- 
ument from  them  ;  but,  being  independent,  he  will- 
ingly gives  up  all  ideas  of  doing  so. 

June  2isi,  1820.  Wordsworth  was  very  pleasant. 
Indeed,  he  is  uniformly  so  now.  And  there  is  abso- 
lutely no  pretence  for  what  was  always  an  exagger- 
ated charge  against  him,  that  he  could  talk  only  of 
his  own  poetry,  and  loves  only  his  own  works.  He 
is  more  indulgent  than  he  used  to  be  of  the  works 
of  others,  even  contemporaries  and  rivals. — Henry 
Crabb  Robinson  ("Diary").' 

October  27///,  1820.  We  talked  of  Wordsworth's 
exceedingly  high  opinion  of  himself ;  and  Lady 
Davy  mentioned  that  one  day,  in  a  large  party^ 
Wordsworth,  without  anything  having  been  pre- 
viously said  that  could  lead  to  the  subject,  calling 
out  suddenly  from  the  top  of  the  table  to  the  bot- 
tom, in  his  most  epic  tone,  "  Davy  !  "  and  on  Davy's 
putting  forth  his  head  in  awful  expectation  of  what 
was  coming,  said,  "  Do  you  know  the  reason  why  I 
published  the  '  White  Doe  '  in  quarto  ? "  "  No, 
what  was  it  ?  "  "  To  show  the  world  my  own  opin- 
ion of  it." — Thomas  Moore  ("  Memoirs,"  edited  by 
Lord  J.  Russell). 

Wordsworth's  attention  was  arrested  by  the  pre- 
possessing looks  of  a  little  girl,  who  was  sitting  on 
the  grass  alone.     He  stopped  and  talked  to  her,  and 

'  Robinson  (Henry  Crabb).  Diary,  Reminiscences,  and  Corre- 
spondence.    Edited  by  T.  Sadler.     3  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1869. 


Self- esteem. 


46 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


"The  cele- 
brated 
W.  }V." 


Mt'liffn's 
luatck. 


r  an  ted 
criticism  of 
his  contem- 
poraries. 


asked  her  of  her  parents,  her  home,  whether  she 
went  to  school,  &c.,  and  being  well  pleased  with  the 
ingenuous  answers  tliat  she  gave  him,  he  put  one 
hand  on  her  head,  and  with  the  other  dived  down 
into  the  recesses  of  his  coat  pocket,  and  drew  forth 
a  little  copy  of  his  minor  poems,  telling  her  to  look 
at  him  well,  and  note  his  person  ;  to  be  sure  also  to 
observe  well  the  time  of  day,  and  the  spot  ;  and  to 
recollect  that  this  little  book  had  been  given  to  her 
by  the  author,  the  celebrated  William  Wordsworth ! ' 
— Julian  C.  Young  ("Memoir  of  C.  M.  Young"). 

Landor,  always  generous,  says  that  he  never 
praised  anybody.  A  gentleman  in  London  showed 
me  a  watch  that  once  belonged  to  Milton,  whose 
initials  are  engraved  on  its  face.  He  said,  he  once 
showed  this  to  Wordsworth,  who  took  it  in  one 
hand,  then  drew  out  his  own  watch,  and  held  it  up 
with  the  other,  before  the  company,  but  no  one 
making  the  expected  remark,  he  put  back  his  own 
in  silence.  —  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  ("  English 
Traits  "). 

He  often  gave  an  opinion  on  authors  which  he 
never  had  read,  and  on  some  which  he  could  not 
read  ;  Plato,  for  instance.  .  .  .  He  spoke  con- 
temptuously of  the  Scotch.  The  first  time  I  ever 
met  him,  and  the  only  time  I  ever  conversed  with 
him  longer  tlian  a  few  minutes,  he  spoke  contemp- 
tuously   of    Scott,    and    violently    of    Byron.       He 


'  This  story  was  told  by  Samuel  Rogers,  who  was  walking  with 
Wordsworth  when  the  scene  occurred. 


WILLIAM    WORDS IVORTIL 


47 


cliatted  about  them  incolierently  and  indiscrimi- 
nately.— Walter  Savage  Landor  (from  a  letter  to 
Emerson). 

Dr.  Charles  Mackay,  in  his  "  Forty  Years'  Recol- 
lections," reports  the  following  talk  of  Samuel  Rog- 
ers, about  Wordsworth  :  "  He  lives  too  much  alone. 
He  does  not  associate  with  his  fellow  men.  He 
has  shut  himself  up  for  years  among  the  mountains 
and  the  lakes,  and  worshipped  them  ;  he  has  ended 
by  worshipping  himself.  He  has  so  continually 
brooded  over  his  own  genius  in  his  darling  soli- 
tudes, that  he  has  come  to  consider  himself  the 
centre  of  the  universe.  ...  I  should  not  call 
him  a  vain  man,  or  even  a  conceited  man,  by  nature 
or  original  disposition,  but  he  has  become  conceited 
for  want  of  intercourse  with  his  fellows.  He  sees 
nobody  at  Grasmere  who  is  not  inferior  to  himself, 
and  he  comes  to  the  conclusion,  unconsciously  I 
have  no  doubt,  that  everybody,  everywhere  else,  is 
inferior  to  him.  If  he  would  spend  six  months  of 
every  year  in  London  this  idea  would  be  rubbed  out 
of  him  by  the  wholesome  friction  of  society." 

I  remember  Mr.  Wordsworth  saying  that,  at  a 
particular  stage  of  his  mental  progress,  he  used  to 
be  frequently  so  rapt  into  an  unreal  transcendental 
world  of  ideas  that  the  external  world  seemed  no 
longer  to  exist  in  relation  to  him,  and  he  had  to 
reconvince  himself  of  its  existence  by  clasping  a 
tree,  or  something  that  happened  to  be  near  him. 
— Robert  P.  Graves  (quoted  in  Wordsworth's 
"  Life  of  Wordsworth  "). 


Too  Jtiuch 
nlotie. 


Mental 
abstraction. 


48 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


A  contrast. 


Politics. 


Home  life. 


April  6ih,  1837.  At  Nismes  I  took  Wordsworth 
to  see  the  exterior  of  both  the  Maison  Carree  and 
the  Arena.  He  acknowledged  their  beauty,  but 
expected  no  great  pleasure  from  such  things.  He 
says,  "  I  am  unable,  from  ignorance,  to  enjoy  these 
sights.  I  receive  an  impression,  but  that  is  all.  I 
have  no  science,  and  can  refer  nothing  to  principle." 
He  was,  on  the  other  hand,  delighted  by  two  beau- 
tiful little  girls  playing  with  flowers  near  the  Arena  ; 
and  I  overheard  him  say  to  himself,  "  Oh,  you  dar- 
lings !  I  wish  I  could  put  you  in  my  pocket,  and 
carry  you  to  Rydal  Mount !  " — Henry  Crabb  Rob- 
inson ("  Diary  "). 

In  his  youth  Wordsworth  was  an  ardent  republi- 
can ;  but  his  political  opinions  changed  very  mate- 
rially as  he  grew  older.  The  character  of  his  con- 
servatism, in  his  mature  years,  may  be  estimated 
from  the  fact  that  he  seriously  considered  the  wis- 
dom of  seeking  a  home  in  some  other  country  in 
consequence  of  the  alarm  with  which  he  viewed 
the  success  of  the  Reform  Bill  in  1832. 

No  one  could  enjoy  anything  beyond  the  most 
cursory  admission  into  the  home  of  Wordsworth, 
without  feeling  that  he  was  breathing  there  a  moral 
atmosphere  singularly  pure  and  healthful.  The 
stamp  of  truth  and  genuineness  was  on  everything. 
Persons  and  events,  theories  and  projects,  were  es- 
timated by  a  standard  which  was  intended  to  deter- 
mine, not  their  conventional  and  temporary,  but 
their  real  and  permanent  value.  One  would  have 
said  that  to  wear  any  mask  would  have  been  impos- 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


49 


sible  in  the  presence  of  a  family  so  truthful  and  so 
sensitive,  so  quick  to  recognize  every  genuine  emo- 
tion, so  sure  to  give  instinctive  yet  not  ungentle 
indication  of  their  sense  of  what  was  false  or  ex- 
aggerated. But  all  this  w^as  the  action  of  no  polem- 
ically critical  spirit  :  kindness  and  human-hearted- 
ness  reigned  in  full  concord  with  truth,  the  sacred 
recesses  of  feeling  were  carefully  respected,  and 
holy  things  touched  with  reverence.  All  around 
corresponded  :  an  exquisite  nature  looked  in  at  the 
windows,  or  was  looked  out  upon — flowers  and 
books,  prints,  paintings,  and  sculptured  figures,  all 
loved  with  something  of  a  personal  love,  adorned 
the  rooms,  which  were  pervaded  by  a  homely  ele- 
gance, and  one  saw  that  everything  was  for  use  or 
for  enjoyment,  nothing  for  ostentation.  I  need  not 
say  that  all  these  things  indicated  essential  charac- 
teristics of  the  poet  himself. — Robert  P.  Graves 
("  Recollections  of  Wordsworth  "). 

There  is  an  almost  patriarchal  simplicity  about 
him — an  absence  of  all  pretension.  All  is  free,  un- 
studied— 

"  The  river  winding  at  its  own  sweet  will  " — 

in  his  manner  and  conversation.  There  is  more  of 
impulse  about  them  than  I  had  expected  ;  but  in 
other  respects  I  see  much  that  I  should  have  looked 
for  in  the  poet  of  meditative  life  :  frequently  his 
head  droops,  his  eyes  half  close,  and  he  seeems 
buried  in  quiet  depths  of  thought. — Felicia  D. 
Hemans  ("  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Hemans  "). 
III.— 4 


Home  life. 


so 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 


Home  li/e. 


In  his 
garden. 


I  am  charmed  with  Mr.  Wordsworth,  whose  kind- 
ness to  me  has  quite  a  soothing  influence  over  my 
spirits.  .  .  .  "There  is  a  daily  beauty  in  his 
life,"  which  is  in  such  lovely  harmony  with  his 
poetry,  that  I  am  thankful  to  have  witnessed  and 
felt  it.  He  gives  me  a  good  deal  of  his  society, 
reads  to  me,  walks  with  me,  leads  my  pony  when  I 
ride  ;  and  I  begin  to  talk  with  him  as  with  a  sort 
of  paternal  friend. — Felicia  D.  Hemans  ("  Memoir 
of  Mrs.  Hemans"). 

In  an  article  entitled  "  The  English  Lakes  and 
their  Genii,"  published  in  Harper  s  Magazine,  De- 
cember, 1880,  Mr.  M.  D.  Conway  gives  the  follow- 
ing description,  which  he  received  from  Isaac 
Walker,  an  old  man,  who  had  once  been  in  Words- 
worth's service,  and  who  still  remembered  his 
master's  habits  : 

"  He  liked  to  be  out  of  doors  whenever  he  could. 
Sometimes  he  was  picking  up  things  to  look  at  them, 
and  then  he  was  talking  to  things  in  a  very  queer 
way.  I  can  see  him  now,  following  a  bumble-bee 
all  over  the  garden  ;  he  puts  his  hands  behind  him, 
this  way,  and  then  bends  over  towards  the  bee,  and 
wherever  it  went  he  followed,  making  a  noise  like 
it — 'Boom-oom-oom-oom.'  .  .  .  He  would  stick 
to  that  bee  long  and  long,  until  it  went  away  ;  you 
might  go  away  and  come  back,  and  still  you  would 
see  him  striding  after  that  bee,  with  his  mouth 
down  toward  it,  and  hear  his  *  Boom-oom-oom.* 
But  there  was  nothing  he  did  n't  take  notice  of." 

When  one  came  in  contact  with  himself  it  was 
his  strength  above  all  things  which  impressed  one. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


51 


Here  was  no  merely  amiable,  no  merely  simple,  or 
reverential,  or  imaginative  man,  but  one  eminently 
masculine  and  strong  :  a  man  of  strong  intellect,  of 
strong  feelings,  of  sturdy,  massive  individuality. 
If  I  do  not  apply  to  him  the  epithet  "  intense,"  it 
is  because  I  conceive  it  to  belong  more  properly  to 
a  weaker  type  of  man  in  a  state  of  strain  ;  but  I 
never  met  with  a  mind  which  to  me  seemed  to  work 
constantly  with  so  much  vigor,  or  with  feelings  so 
constantly  in  a  state  of  fervor  :  the  strong  intellect 
was,  to  use  his  owm  expression,  '■'■steeped  in"  the 
strong  feeling,  but  the  man  was  always  master  of 
both  :  so  broad  was  the  basis  of  his  mental  constitu- 
tion, so  powerful  the  original  will  v/hich  guided  and 
controlled  his  emotions. — Robert  P.  Graves  ("  Rec- 
ollections of  Wordsworth  "). 

In  intercovirse  with  him  it  was  my  delight  to  wit- 
ness abundant  proofs  that  the  wide  and  deep  benevo- 
lence expressed  in  his  poetry  was  no  mere  theoretic 
philanthropy,  but  an  active  principle.  It  showed  it- 
self toward  dependants  and  neighbors  as  well  as  in 
the  sacred  circle  of  his  home,  and  I  remember  touch- 
ing instances,  when  I  have  joined  him  in  a  walk,  of 
his  putting  aside  all  interest  in  conversation  or  ulte- 
rior object,  if  we  met  with  any  human  being  .  .  . 
in  trouble  or  distress,  and  making  with  persistency 
any  needful  effort  to  bring  relief  or  comfort.  And 
as  with  benevolence,  so  with  affection. — Robert  P. 
Graves  ("  Recollections  uf  Wordsworth  ").' 

'  Mr.  Graves  became  the  resident  clergyman  of  the  parish  of 
Windermere  in  1835,  and  held  that  position  for  nearly  thirty  years. 
His  reminiscences  of  Wordsworth  are  contained  in  a  lecture  deliv- 
ered in  Dublin  in  1868,  and  published  in  1869. 


Intellectual 
strength. 


Practical 
benevolence. 


52 


WILLIAM   WORDS  WORTH. 


A  sisfer's 
praise. 


Treatvient 
of  Hartley 
Coleridge. 


In  his  volume  upon  Wordsworth,  in  the  "  English 
Men  of  Letters  "  series,  Mr.  F.  W.  H.  Myers  '  quotes 
as  follows  from  a  letter  written  by  Dorothy  Words- 
worth, in  1792.  In  the  course  of  a  comparison  of 
her  brothers,  she  says  : — "  Christopher  is  steady  and 
sincere  in  his  attachments,  William  has  both  these 
virtues  in  an  eminent  degree,  and  a  sort  of  violence 
of  affection,  if  I  may  so  term  it,  which  demonstrates 
itself  every  moment  of  the  day,  when  the  objects  of 
his  affection  are  present  with  him,  in  a  thousand  al- 
most imperceptible  attentions  to  their  wishes,  in  a 
sort  of  restless  watchfulness  which  I  know  not  how 
to  describe,  a  tenderness  that  never  sleeps,  and  at 
the  same  time  such  a  delicacy  of  manner  as  I  have 
observed  in  few  men." 

In  no  aspect  did  Wordsworth  appear  to  more  ad- 
vantage than  in  his  conduct  to  poor  Hartley  Cole- 
ridge, who  lived  in  his  neighborhood.  The  weakness, 
— the  special  vice,* —  of  that  poor,  gentle,  hopeless 
being  is  universally  known  by  the  publication  of 
his  life  ;  and  I  am  therefore  free  to  say  that,  as  long 
as  there  was  any  chance  of  good  from  remonstrance 
and  rebuke,  Wordsworth  administered  both,  sternly 
and  faithfully  :  but,  when  nothing  more  than  pity 
and  help  was  possible,  Wordsworth  treated  him  as 
gently  as  if  he  had  been, — (what  indeed  he  was 
in  our  eyes) — a  sick  child. — Harriet  Martineau 
("Autobiography  "). 

'  Myers  (Frederick  W.  H.).  Wordsworth.  i2mo.  London  and 
New  York,  1881.  (Englisli  ?.Icn  of  Letters.  Edited  by  John 
Morley.) 

'■'  Intemperance. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


53 


Upon  the  publication  of  two  volumes  of  his  poems, 
in  1807,  Wordsworth  wrote  as  follows  to  his  friend 
Lady  Beaumont.  We  lose  sight  of  egotism  in  this 
calm  assertion  of  lofty  and  unselfish  aims.  There  is 
something  grand  in  the  poet's  prophetic  assurance 
of  ultimate  triumph,  at  a  time  when  all  his  admirers 
could  have  been  gathered  together  in  his  own  par- 
lor. The  letter  is  to  be  found  in  Wordsworth's  "Life 
of  Wordsworth." 

"It  is  impossible  that  any  expectations  can  be 
lower  than  mine  concerning  the  immediate  effect 
of  this  little  work  upon  what  is  called  the  public.  I 
do  not  here  take  into  consideration  the  envy  and 
malevolence,  and  all  the  bad  passions  which  always 
stand  in  the  way  of  a  work  of  any  merit  from  a  liv- 
ing poet  ;  but  merely  think  of  the  pure,  absolute, 
lionest  ignorance  in  which  all  Avorldlings  of  every 
rank  and  condition  must  be  enveloped,  with  respect 
to  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and  images,  on  which  the 
life  of  my  poems  depends.     .     .     . 

"  Trouble  not  yourself  upon  their  present  recep- 
tion ;  of  what  moment  is  that  compared  with  what 
I  trust  is  their  destiny  ? — to  console  the  afflicted,  to 
add  sunshine  to  daylight,  by  making  the  happy 
happier  ;  to  teach  the  young  and  the  gracious  of 
every  age  to  see,  to  think,  and  feel,  and  therefore, 
to  become  more  actively  and  securely  virtuous  ; 
this  is  their  office  ;  which  I  trust  they  will  faithfully 
perform,  long  after  we  (that  is,  all  that  is  mortal  of 
us)  are  mouldered  in  our  graves.  .  ,  .  To  con- 
clude, my  ears  are  stone-dead  to  this  idle  buzz,  and 
my  fiesh  as  insensible  as  iron  to  these  petty  stings  ; 
and,  after  what  I  have  said,  I   am  sure  yours  will 


The  scope 

0/ his  am- 

bition. 


54 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH. 


be  the  same.  I  doubt  not  that  you  will  share  with 
me  an  invincible  confidence  that  my  writings  (and 
among  them  these  little  poems)  will  co-operate  with 
the  benign  tendencies  in  human  nature  and  society, 
wherever  found  ;  and  that  they  will,  in  their  degree, 
be  efficacious  in  making  men  wiser,  better,  and 
happier." 


The  scope 
of  his  am- 
bition. 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 

1772— 1834. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


" /"^OLERIDGE'S  face,  when  he  repeats  his 
V_^  verses,  hath  its  ancient  glory  ;  an  archangel 
a  little  damaged  " — thus,  with  good-humored  pleas- 
antry, wrote  Lamb  to  Wordsworth  in  1818.  Like 
most  of  Lamb's  sayings,  these  words  are  suggestive, 
beyond  their  author's  original  intention.  It  would 
be  unjust  to  the  kindly  humorist  to  suppose  that  he 
had  any  thought  of  satirizing  the  character  of  his 
honored  friend  ;  yet  he  could  scarcely  have  sug- 
gested more  aptly  the  mingled  strength  and  weak- 
ness of  Coleridge. 

It  is  impossible  to  decide  how  far  the  compara- 
tive failure  of  Coleridge's  life  was  due  to  the  malign 
influence  of  opium,  and  how  far  it  was  the  natural 
result  of  his  constitution  and  temperament.  Inac- 
tivity, procrastination,  vacillating  purposes,  an  ir- 
resolute will — from  whatever  sources  they  may  have 
sprung — prevented  him  from  doing  justice  to  the 
powers  with  which  he  was  gifted. 

Eulogy,  testimony  to  his  great  qualities  of  mind 
and  heart,  is  not  wanting.  Many  eminent  men 
have  celebrated  his  virtues  :  yet,  to  some  readers, 
the  strongest  and  most  convincing  evidence  of  his 
personal  worth  will  be  the  fact  that  he  inspired  last- 


58  SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 

ing  affection  and  reverence  in  one  mind  of  unusual 
acutcness  and  sincerity  ;  that  he  was  the  life-long 
friend  of  sensitive,  clear-sighted  Charles  Lamb. 

A  large,  perhaps  an  unduly  large  space  has  been 
devoted  to  the  various  accounts  and  estimates  of 
Coleridge's  conversation.  Here  it  seemed  safer  to 
err  by  excess  than  by  deficiency.  Many  will  be  glad 
to  examine  all  the  evidence  which  can  be  obtained 
upon  this  subject ;  for  Coleridge  was  the  most  dis- 
tinguished talker  of  his  time.  In  the  New  Monthly 
Magazine  (London),  vol.  94,  p.  281,  there  is  an 
anonymous  article,  entitled  "  Coleridge  the  Table- 
Talker,"  which  contains  a  clear  and  comprehensive 
summary  of  the  best  opinions,  pro  and  con,  in  re- 
gard to  this  matter.  It  is,  unfortunately,  too  long 
to  be  inserted  in  this  volume. 

There  is  no  satisfactory  biography  of  Coleridge 
Gillman's  ill-considered  and  wholly  inadequate 
work  was  never  finished.  The  account  by  Henry 
Nelson  Coleridge,  in  the  biographical  supplement 
to  "  Biographia  Literaria,"  stops  short  at  tlie  year 
1796,  and  is  continued  only  in  the  most  fragment' 
ary  manner  by  the  poet's  daughter,  Sara  Coleridge. 
Besides  these  works  we  have  two  rambling,  imme- 
thodical  volumes  of  recollections  by  Cottle  and  All- 
sop ;  and  this  isall.  Here  is  an  opportunity  forsome 
one  to  do  good  work.'     In  addition  to  the  books  al- 

'  Tlic  recent  publication  of  a  volume  upon  Coleridge,  by  IL  D. 
Traill,  in  the  English  Men  of  Letters  series,  demands  attention. 
This  work  fully  justifies  the  very  modest  claims  of  its  author, 
who  clearly  recognizes  the  impossibility  of  producing  a  compre- 
hensive and  adequate  biography  of  Coleridge,  under  the  limita- 
tions imposed  by  the  plan  of  tiie  series. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE.  59 

ready  mentioned,  the  following  are  worthy  of  atten- 
tion :  Talfourd's  various  editions  of  letters  and 
memorials  of  Lamb ;  Mary  Cowden  Clarke's 
"Recollections  of  Writers  ;"  De  Quincey's  "Liter- 
ary Reminiscences;"  Carlyle's  "Reminiscences;" 
Hazlitt's  "  My  F^irst  Acquaintance  with  Poets  ; " 
H.  N.  Coleridge's  "  Table  Talk  of  S.  T.  C.  ; "  W. 
Jordan's  "  Men  I  have  Known  ; "  J.  C.  Young's 
"Memoir  of  C.  M.  Young;"  and  Miss  Eliza 
Metcyard's  "  Group  of  Englishmen." 


LEADING   EVENTS   OF   COLERIDGE'S   LIFE. 

1772.  Born,  October   21st,  at  Ottery  St.  Mary,  Dev- 

onshire. 

1782. — (Af;cd  10.)  A  scholar  at  Cluist's  Hospital  school. 

1791. — (Aged  19.)   Enters  Cambridge  University. 

1793. — (Aged  21.)  Leaves  the  University,  and  enlists  as  a  private 
in  a  cavahy  regiment,  December  3d. 

1794. — (Aged  21-22.)  Obtains  liis  discharge  from  tlie  army,  April 
1st.  rians  a  Pantisocrasy  with  Soulhey  antl 
others,  and  publislies  tlie  "  Fall  of  Robes- 
juerre." 

1795. — (Aged  23.)  Marries  Miss  Sar.ah  Fricker. 

1796. — (Aged  24.)  Publishes  "The  Watchman,"  and  his  first  vol- 
ume of  poems.  Preaches  occasionally  in 
l^nitarian  Churches. 

1797. — (Aged  25.)  Publishes  a  volume  of  poems,  the  ji>int  pro- 
duction of  Lamb,  Lloyd,  and  himself. 

1798. — (Aged  26.)  "Lyrical  Ballads,"  the  joint  work  of  Words- 
worth and  himself,  containing  "The  Ancient 
Mariner,"  published.  Visits  the  Continent 
with  William  and  Dorothy  Wordsworth. 

1799. — (Aged  27.)  Returns  to  England. 

1S04. — (Aged  32.)  Visits  Malta. 


6o  SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 

1806. — (Aged  34.)  Returns  to  England.     Resides  at  Keswick  and 

Grasmere. 
1812. — (Aged  40.)  Publishes  "  The  Friend." 
1813. — (Aged  41.)   "  Remorse"  performed  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre. 
1816. — (Aged  44.)  Publishes  "  Christabel."     Goes   to   live   with 

the  Gillmans. 
1817.  —  (Aged  45.)  Publishes  "  Biographia  Literaria." 
1825. — (Aged  53.)  Publishes  "  Aids  to  Reflection." 
1834. — (Aged  61  years  and  9  months.)  Dies,  July  25th. 


SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 


FROM  October,  1775,  to  October  1778.'  .  .  . 
My  Father  was  very  fond  of  me,  and  I  was  my 
Mother's  darling  :  in  consequence  whereof  I  was 
very  miserable.  For  Molly,  who  had  nursed  my 
brother  Francis,  and  was  immoderately  fond  of  him, 
hated  me  because  my  mother  gave  me  now  and  then 
a  bit  of  cake  when  he  had  none,  ...  So  I  be- 
came fretful  and  timorous,  and  a  tell-tale  ;  and  the 
school-boys  drove  me  from  play,  and  were  always 
tormenting  me.  And  hence  I  took  no  pleasure  in 
boyish  sports,  but  read  incessantly.  .  .  .  And  I 
used  to  lie  by  the  wall,  and  mope  ;  and  my  spirits 
used  to  come  upon  me  suddenly,  and  in  a  flood  ;— 
and  then  I  was  accustomed  to  run  up  and  down  the 
churchyard,  and  act  over  again  all  I  had  been  read- 
ing on  the  docks,  the  nettles  and  the  rank  grass. 
At  six  years  of  age  I  remember  to  have  read  Belisa- 
rius,  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  Philip  Quarles  ;  and  then 
I  found  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments  one 
tale  of  which  .  .  .  made  so  deep  an  impression 
on  me  .  .  .  that  I  was  haunted  by  spectres, 
whenever  I  was  in  the  dark  :  and  I  distinctly  rec- 
ollect the  anxious  and  fearful  eagerness  with  which 


'  From  three  to  six  years  of  age. 


Coleridge's 

own  account 
of  his  boy- 
hood. 


62 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Coleritige's 
own  account 
o/ his  toy- 
hood. 


I  used  to  watch  the  window  where  the  book  lay,  and 
when  the  sun  came  upon  it,  I  would  seize  it,  carry- 
it  by  the  wall,  and  bask,  and  read.     .     .     . 

So  I  became  a  dreamer,  and  acquired  an  indispo- 
sition to  all  bodily  activity  ;  and  I  was  fretful  and 
inordinately  passionate  ;  and  as  I  could  not  play  at 
anything,  and  was  slothful,  I  was  despised  and 
hated  by  the  boys  ;  and  because  I  could  read  and 
spell,  and  had,  I  may  truly  say,  a  memory  and  un- 
derstanding forced  into  almost  unnatural  ripeness, 
I  was  flattered  and  wondered  at  by  all  the  old 
women.  And  so  I  became  very  vain,  and  despised 
most  of  the  boys  that  were  at  all  near  my  own  age, 
and  before  I  was  eight  years  old  I  was  a  character. 
Sensibility,  imagination,  vanity,  sloth,  and  feelings 
of  deep  and  bitter  contempt  for  almost  all  who  trav- 
ersed the  orbit  of  my  understanding,  were  even 
then  prominent  and  manifest. — Samuel  T.  Cole- 
ridge (Letter  quoted  in  supplement  to  "  Biographia 
Literaria").* 

From  October,  1779,  to  1781.'  I  had  asked  my 
mother  one  evening  to  cut  my  cheese  entire,  so 
that  I  might  toast  it.  This  was  no  easy  matter,  it 
being  a  crinnbiy  cheese.  My  mother  however  did  it. 
I  went  into  the  garden  for  something  or  other,  and 
in  the  meantime  my  brother  Frank  minced  my 
cheese,  to  "disappoint  the  favorite."  I  returned, 
saw  the  exploit,  and  in  an   agony  of  passion   flew 


'  Coleridge  (Samuel  T.).  Biographia  I^iteraria.  Edited,  with 
biographical  supplement,  by  II.  N.  and  Sara  Coleridge.  2  vols., 
i2mo.      London,  1847. 

'  From  seven  to  nine  years  of  age. 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


^Z 


at  Frank.  He  pretended  to  have  been  seriously 
hurt  by  my  blow,  flung  himself  on  the  ground,  and 
there  lay  with  outstretched  limbs.  I  hung  over 
liim  mourning  and  in  a  great  fright  ;  he  leaped  up, 
and  with  a  hoarse  laugh  gave  me  a  severe  blow  in 
the  face.  I  seized  a  knife,  and  was  running  at  him, 
when  my  mother  came  in  and  took  me  by  the  arm. 
I  expected  a  flogging,  and,  struggling  from  her,  I 
ran  away  to  a  little  hill  or  slope,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  the  Otter  flows,  about  a  mile  from  Ottery. 
There  I  stayed,  my  rage  died  away,  but  my  obsti- 
nacy vanquished  my  fears,  and  taking  out  a  shilling 
book,  which  had  at  the  end  morning  and  evening 
prayers,  I  very  devoutly  repeated  them — thinking 
at  the  same  time  with  a  gloomy  inward  satisfaction 
— how  miserable  my  mother  must  be  !  ...  It 
grew  dark,  and  I  fell  asleep.  It  was  towards  the 
end  of  October,  and  it  proved  a  stormy  night.  I 
felt  the  cold  in  my  sleep,  and  dreamed  that  I  was 
pulling  the  blanket  over  me,  and  actually  pulled 
over  me  a  dry  thorn-bush  which  lay  on  the  ground 
near  me.  ...  I  awoke  several  times,  and  find- 
ing myself  wet,  and  cold,  and  stiff,  closed  my  eyes 
again  that  I  might  forget  it.' — S.  T.  Coleridge 
(Letter  to  T.  Poole). 


At  first  I  thought  him  very  plain,"  that  is,  for 
about  three  minutes  ;  he  is  pale,  thin,  has  a  wide 
mouth,  thick  lips,  and  not  very  good  teeth,  longish, 

'  The  sequel  was  that  he  was  found,  more  dead  than  alive,  in 
the  morning,  and  carried  home  to  liis  parents. 

'  Coleridge  was  about  twenty-four  years  old,  when  Miss  Words- 
worth wrote  this  description. 


Coleridge's 
own  account 
oj  his  boy- 
hood. 


64 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Personal 
appearance. 


loose-growing,  half-curling,  rough,  black  hair.  But, 
if  you  hear  him  speak  for  five  minutes  you  think  no 
more  of  them.  His  eye  is  large  and  full,  and  not 
very  dark,  but  grey,  such  an  eye  as  would  receive 
from  a  heavy  soul  the  dullest  expression  ;  but  it 
speaks  every  emotion  of  his  animated  mind  :  it  has 
more  of  "the'poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling" 
than  I  ever  witnessed.  He  has  fine  dark  eyebrows, 
and  an  overhanging  forehead. — Dorothy  Words- 
worth (from  a  letter  of  1797). 


Coleridge  has  a  grand  head,  but  very  ill  balanced, 
and  the  features  of  the  face  are  coarse — although, 
to  be  sure,  nothing  can  surpass  the  depth  of  mean- 
ing in  his  eyes,  and  the  unutterable  dreamy  luxury 
in  his  lips. — John  G.  Lockhart  ("  Peter's  Letters  to 
His  Kinsfolk,"  1819).' 

I  am  able,  by  female  aid,  to  communicate  a  pretty 
close  description  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  as  he 
was  in  the  )'ear  1796.  In  stature  ...  he  was 
exactly  five  feet  ten  inches  in  height  ;  with  a  bloom- 
ing and  healthy  complexion  ;  beautiful  and  luxu- 
riant hair,  falling  in  natural  curls  over  his  shoulders. 
.  .  .  He  grew  fat  and  corpulent  towards  Water- 
loo ;  but  he  was  then  slender  and  agile  as  an 
antelope. — Thomas  De  Quincey  ("Coleridge  and 
Opium-Eating  ").' 


'  Lockhart  (John  Gibson).  Peter's  Letters  to  His  Kinsfolk. 
3  vols.,  8vo.     Edinburgh,  1819. 

"^  De  Quincey  (Thomas).  Narrative  and  Miscellaneous  Papers. 
2  vols.,  i6mo.     Boston,  1853. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


65 


His  complexion  was  at  that  time  (179S)  clear,  and 
even  bright — 

"  As  are  the  children  of  yon  azure  sheen." 

His  forehead  was  broad  and  high,  light  as  if  built 
of  ivory,  with  large  projecting  eyebrows,  and  his 
eyes  rolling  beneath  them,  like  a  sea  with  darkened 
lustre.  "A  certain  tender  bloom  his  face  o'er- 
spread,"  a  purple  tinge  as  we  see  it  in  the  pale 
thoughtful  complexions  of  the  Spanish  portrait- 
painters,  Murillo  and  Velasquez,  His  mouth  was 
gross,  voluptuous,  open,  eloquent ;  his  chin  good- 
humored  and  round  ;  but  his  nose,  the  rudder  of 
the  face,  the  index  of  the  will,  was  small,  feeble, 
nothing — like  what  he  has  done.  .  .  .  Coleridge, 
in  his  person,  was  rather  above  the  common  size, 
inclining  to  the  corpulent.  .  .  .  His  hair  (now, 
alas !  gray)  was  then  black  and  glossy  as  a  raven's, 
and  fell  in  smooth  masses  over  his  forehead. — 
William  Hazlitt  ("  My  First  Acquaintance  with 
Poets  "). 

Coleridge  was  as  little  fitted  for  action  as  Lamb, 
but  on  a  different  account.  His  person  was  of  a 
good  height,  but  as  sluggish  and  solid  as  the  other's 
was  light  and  fragile.  He  had,  perhaps,  suffered  it 
to  grow  old  before  its  time,  for  want  of  exercise. 
His  hair  was  white  at  fifty  ;  and  as  he  generally 
dressed  in  black,  and  had  a  very  tranquil  demeanor, 
his  appearance  was  gentlemanly,  and  for  several 
years  before  his  death  was  reverend.  Nevertheless, 
there  was  something  invincibly  young  in  the  look 
of  his  face.  It  was  round  and  fresh-colored,  with 
agreeable  features,  and  an  open,  indolent,  good- 
Ill. -S 


appca  raiice. 


66 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Personal 
aJ>J>earance, 


natured  mouth.  This  boy-like  expression  was  very 
becoming  in  one  who  dreamed  and  speculated  as 
he  did  when  he  was  really  a  boy,  and  who  passed 
his  life  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  with  a 
book,  and  his  fiowers.  His  forehead  was  prodig- 
ious— a  great  piece  of  placid  marble  ;  and  his  fine 
eyes,  in  which  all  the  activity  of  his  mind  seemed 
to  concentrate,  moved  under  it  with  a  sprightly 
ease,  as  if  it  was  pastime  to   them  to  carry  all  that 


thought. 


-Leigh  Hunt  ("Autobiography"). 


In  his  mature  age  (when  I  knew  him)  Coleridge 
had  a  full,  round  face,  a  fine,  broad  forehead,  rather 
thick  lips,  and  strange,  dreamy  eyes,  which  were  of- 
ten lighted  up  by  eagerness,  but  wanted  concentra- 
tion, and  were  adapted  apparently  for  musing  or 
speculation,  rather  than  for  precise  or  rapid  judg- 
ment.— Bryan  W.  Procter  ("Charles  Lamb;  a 
Memoir"). 

When  years  had  blanched  his  hair  to  a  silvery 
white,  his  tendency  to  obesity  increased,  his  counte- 
nance was  tinged  with  a  slight  florid  flush,  and  his 
large,  soft,  gray  eye  beamed  with  an  extraordinary 
mingled  expression  of  tenderness  and  splendor,  for 
it  was  like  molten  fire,  Avith  its  fitful  force  abated 
by  the  concomitant  signs  of  thoughtfulness  and 
feeling. — William  Jerdan  ("  Men  I  have  Known  "). 

There  was  rarely  much  change  of  countenance  ; 
his  face,  when  I  knew  him,  was  overladen  with  flesh, 
and  its  expression  impaired  ;  yet  to  me  it  was  so 
tender,  and  gentle,  and  gracious,  and  loving,  that  I 
could  hav^e  knelt  at  the  old  man's  feet  almost  in 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


67 


adoration. — Samuel    C.  Hall    ("  Book    of    Memo- 
ries "). 


I  have  seen  many  curiosities  ;  not  the  least  of  them 
I  reclcon  Coleridge,  the  Kantian  metaphysician  and 
quondam  Lake  poet.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  our 
interview  when  we  meet.  Figure  a  fat,  flabby,  in- 
curvated  personage,  at  once  short,  rotund,  and  re- 
laxed, with  a  watery  mouth,  a  snuffy  nose,  a  pair  of 
strange  brown,  timid,  yet  earnest-looking  eyes,  a 
high  tapering  brow,  and  a  great  bush  of  gray  hair ; 
and  you  have  some  faint  idea  of  Coleridge.  He  is 
a  kind,  good  soul,  full  of  religion  and  affection  and 
poetry  and  animal  magnetism.  His  cardinal  sin  is 
that  he  wants  will.  He  has  no  resolution.  He 
shrinks  from  pain  or  labor  in  any  of  its  shapes.  His 
very  attitude  bespeaks  this.  He  never  straightens 
his  knee-joints.  He  stoops  with  his  fat,  ill-shapen 
shoulders,  and  in  walking  he  does  not  tread,  but 
shovels  and  slides.  My  father  would  call  it  'skluif- 
fing.'  He  is  also  always  busied  to  keep  by  strong 
and  frequent  inhalations,  the  water  of  his  mouth 
from  overflowing,  and  his  eyes  have  a  look  of 
anxious  impotence. — Thomas  Carlyle  (Letter  of 
1824).' 

The  good  man,  he  was  now  getting  old,  toward 
sixty  perhaps  ;  and  gave  you  the  idea  of  a  life  that 
had  been  full  of  sufferings  ;  a  life  heavy-laden,  half- 
vanquished,    still    swimming   painfully    in    seas   of 

'  Froude  (James  Anthony).  Thomas  l^arlyle.  A  History  of  the 
First  Forty  Years  of  his  Life.  2  vols.,  8vo.  London  and  New  York, 
1882. 


Personal 

appearance 

— Lack  0/ 

7vill. 


68 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Personal 
aj>j>earance. 


manifold  physical  and  other  bewilderment.  Brow 
and  head  were  round,  and  of  massive  weight,  but 
the  face  was  flabby  and  irresolute.  The  deep  eyes, 
of  a  light  hazel,  were  as  full  of  sorrow  as  of  inspira- 
tion ;  confused  pain  looked  mildly  from  them,  as  in 
a  kind  of  mild  astonishment.  The  whole  figure  and 
air,  good  and  amiable  otherwise,  might  be  called 
flabby  and  irresolute  ;  expressive  of  weakness  under 
possibility  of  strength.  He  hung  loosely  on  his 
limbs,  with  knees  bent,  and  stooping  attitude  ;  in 
walking,  he  rather  shuffled  than  decisively  stept ; 
and  a  lady  once  remarked,  he  never  could  fix  which 
side  of  the  garden-walk  would  suit  him  best,  but 
continually  shifted,  in  corkscrew  fashion,  and  kept 
trying  both.  A  heavy-laden,  high-aspiring,  and 
surely  much-suffering  man.  —  Thomas  Carlyle 
("Life  of  Sterling").' 

The  upper  part  of  Coleridge's  face  was  excessive- 
ly fine.  His  eyes  were  large,  light  gray,  prominent, 
and  of  liquid  brilliancy,  which  some  eyes  of  fine 
character  may  be  observed  to  possess,  as  though  the 
orb  itself  retreated  to  the  innermost  recesses  of  the 
brain.  The  lower  part  of  his  face  was  somewhat 
dragged,  indicating  the  presence  of  habitual  pain  ; 
but  his  forehead  was  prodigious,  and  like  a  smooth 
slab  of  alabaster. — Mary  Cowden  Clarke  ("Recol- 
lections of  Writers  ").^ 

In  a  collection  of  letters  of  Lamb,  Southey,  and 
Coleridge,  to  Matilda  Betham,  published  in  Fraser's 

'  Carlyle  (Thomas).     Life  of  John  Sterling.     London,  1851. 
'Clarke  (Charles  Cowden  and  Mary  Cowden).     Recollections  of 
Writers.      i2mo.     London,  1878. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


69 


Magazine,  July,  1878,  there  is  a  letter  written  by 
Southey,  in  1808,  in  which  he  thus  describes  Cole- 
ridofe :     "  His  countenance  is  the  most  variable  that 


I  have  ever  seen  ;  sometimes  it  is  kindled  with  the 
brightest  expression,  and  sometimes  all  its  light  goes 
out,  and  is  utterly  extinguished.  Nothing  can  con- 
vey stronger  indications  of  power  than  his  eye,  eye- 
brow, and  forehead.  Nothing  can  be  more  imbecile 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  face  ;  look  at  them  sepa- 
rately, you  would  hardly  think  it  possible  that  they 
could  belong  to  one  head  ;  look  at  them  together, 
you  wonder  how  they  came  so,  and  are  puzzled  what 
to  expect  from  a  character  whose  outward  and  visi- 
ble signs  are  so  contradictory." ' 

Whatever  might  have  been  his  habits  in  boyhood, 
in  manhood  he  was  scrupulously  clean  in  his  per- 
son, and  especially  took  great  care  of  his  hands. 
.  .  .  In  his  dress  also  he  was  as  cleanly  as  the 
liberal  use  of  snuff  would  permit,  though  the  clothes- 
brush  was  often  in  requisition  to  remove  the  wasted 
snuff.  "  Snufif,"  he  would  facetiously  say,  "was  the 
final  cause  of  the  nose,  though  troublesome  and 
expensive  in  its  use." — James  Gillman  ("  Life  of 
Coleridge").' 

At  one  period  of  his  life,  at  least,  Coleridge 
smoked.  On  July  31st,  1795,  he  wrote  as  follows: 
"  Dear  Cottle,  by  the  thick  smoke  that  precedes  the 
volcanic  eruptions  of  Etna,  Vesuvius,  and  Hecla,  I 

1  See  pp.  93,  94. 

*  Gillman  (James).  Life  of  S.  T.  Coleridge.  (Only  one  volume 
was  published.)     Vol.1.,  8vo.     London,  1S38. 


Personal 
appearance. 


Careful  of 

his  peisun.il 

app^n  ra  nee, 

—Snujtf. 


A  smoker. 


70 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


A  smoker. 


Voice — Pro- 
nunciation. 


feel  an  impulse  to  fumigate,  at  (now)  25  College 
Street,  one  pair  of  stairs  room  ;  yea,  with  our  Oro- 
noko,  and  if  thou  wilt  send  me  by  the  bearer,  four 
pipes,  I  will  write  a  panegyrical  epic  poem  upon 
thee,  with  as  many  books  as  there  are  letters  in  thy 
name."  This  letter  was  published  in  Cottle's  "  Rem- 
iniscences." '  As  there  is  no  record  of  Coleridge's 
having  ever  forsworn  the  kindly  plant,  it  may  be 
assumed,  with  reasonable  probability,  that  he  con- 
tinued "to  fumigate." 

His  voice  was  deep  and  musical,  and  his  words 
followed  each  other  in  an  unbroken  flow,  yet  free 
from  monotony.  There  was  indeed  a  peculiar 
charm  in  his  utterance.  His  pronunciation  was 
remarkably  correct  ;  in  some  respects  pedantically 
so.  He  gave  the  full  sound  of  the  /  in  talk,  and 
should,  and  7vould. — Charles  R.  Leslie  ("Autobio- 
graphical Recollections  ").' 

The  benignity  of  his  manner  befitted  the  beauty 
of  his  disquisitions  ;  his  voice  rose  from  the  gentlest 
pitch  of  conversation  to  the  height  of  impassioned 
eloquence  without  effort,  as  his  language  expanded 
from  some  common  topic  of  the  day  to  the  loftiest 
abstractions. — Thomas  N.  Talfourd  ("  Final  Me- 
morials of  Charles  Lamb  ").' 

'  Cottle  (Joseph).  Reminiscences  of  S.  T.  Coleridge  and  R. 
Southey.     Crown  8vo.     London,  1847. 

-  Leslie  (Charles  Robert).  Autobiographical  Recollections. 
Edited  by  Tom  Taylor.      2  vols.,  i2mo.      London,  i860. 

^Talfourd  (Tliomas  Noon).  Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb. 
2  vols.,  i2mo.     London,  1848. 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


7i 


fatce — Pro- 
nunciation. 


His  voice,  naturally  soft  and  good,  had  contracted 
itself  into  a  plaintive  snuffle  and  sing-song  ;  '  he 
spoke  as  if  preaching, — you  would  have  said,  preach- 
ing earnestly  and  also  hopelessly  the  weightiest 
things.  I  still  recollect  his  ''object"  and  "subject," 
terms  of  continual  recurrence  in  the  Kantian  prov- 
ince ;  and  how  he  sung  and  snuffled  them  into 
"om-m-mject,"  and  "sum-m-mject,"  with  a  kind  of 
solemn  shake  or  quaver,  as  he  rolled  along. — 
Thomas  Carlyle  ("  Life  of  Sterling  "). 


In  some  of  the  smaller  pieces,  as  the  conclusion 
of  the  "Kubla  Khan,"  for  example,  not  only  the 
lines  by  themselves  are  musical,  but  the  whole  pas- 
sage sounds  all  at  once  as  an  outburst  or  crash  of 
harps  in  the  still  air  of  autumn.  The  verses  seem 
as  \i played  to  the  ear  upon  some  unseen  instrument. 
And  the  poet's  manner  of  reciting  verse  is  similar. 
It  is  not  rhetorical,  but  musical ;  so  very  near  reci- 
tative, that  for  any  one  else  to  attempt  it  would  be 
ridiculous  ;  and  yet  it  is  perfectly  miraculous  with 
what  exquisite  searching  he  elicits  and  makes  sen- 
sible every  particle  of  the  meaning,  not  leaving  a 
a  shadow  of  a  shade  of  the  feeling,  the  mood,  the 
degree,  untouched.  ...  A  chapter  of  Isaiah 
from  his  mouth  involves  the  listener  in  an  act  of 
exalted  devotion.  We  have  mentioned  this,  to  show 
how  the  whole  man  is  made  up  of  music  ;  and  yet 
Mr.  Coleridge  has  no  ear  for  music,  as  it  is  techni- 
cally called.  Master  as  he  is  of  the  intellectual  reci- 
tative, he  could  not  sing  an  air  to  save  his  life. 
But  his   delight  in  music  is  intense  and  unweari- 


This  was  during  Coleridge's  last  years,  at  Highgate. 


Reading 
aloud  and 
recitatwii. 


72 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


As  a  dispu- 
tant. 


able,  and  he  can  detect  good  from  bad  with  unerr- 
ing discrimination. — Anon.  {Quarterly  Review,  Au- 
gust, 1834). 

1810. — "  Coleridge  kept  me  on  the  stretch  of  at- 
tention and  admiration  from  half-past  three  till 
twelve  o'clock.  On  politics,  metaphysics,  and  poe- 
try, more  especially  on  the  Regency,  Kant,  and 
Shakespeare,  he  was  astonishingly  eloquent.  But  I 
cannot  help  remarking  that  although  he  practises 
all  sorts  of  delightful  tricks,  and  shows  admirable 
skill  in  riding  his  hobby,  yet  he  may  be  easily  un- 
saddled. I  was  surprised  to  find  how  one  may  ob- 
tain from  him  concessions  which  lead  to  gross  in- 
consistencies. Though  an  incomparable  declaimer 
and  speech-maker,  he  has  neither  the  readiness  nor 
the  acuteness  required  by  a  colloquial  disputant  ; 
so  that,  with  a  sense  of  inferiority  which  makes  me 
feel  humble  in  his  presence,  I  do  not  feel  in  the 
least  afraid  of  him." — Extract  from  a  Letter. 

This  I  wrote  when  I  knew  little  of  him  ;  I  used 
afterwards  to  compare  him  as  a  disputant  to  a  ser- 
pent— easy  to  kill,  if  you  assume  the  offensive,  but 
if  you  let  him  attack,  his  bite  is  mortal.  Some 
years  after  this,  when  I  saw  Madame  de  Stael  in 
London,  I  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  him  :  she 
replied,  "He  is  very  great  in  monologue,  but  he 
has  no  idea  of  dialogue." — Henry  Crabb  Robinson 
("  Diary  "). 

In  a  conversation  with  Lord  Cranbrook  in  1843, 
Wilson  said  :  "  Coleridge's  weakness  was  an  ex- 
tremc  love  of  sympathy.     ...     It  was  this  weak- 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


73 


ness,  and  not  pride  or  vanity,  which  led  him  to  de- 
light in  talking ;  and  when  he  had  an  attentive 
hearer  he  would  enlarge  on  every  subject  with  en- 
thusiasm ;  but  if  there  were  the  slightest  apathy  or 
carelessness  displayed,  it  was  curious  to  see  how  his 
voice  died  away  at  once.  And  yet  I  am  convinced 
that  this  was  not  love  of  display,  but  of  having  other 
minds  in  communion,  as  it  were,  with  his  own ;  and 
when  he  felt  that  they  were  so,  he  would  impart  to 
every  object  of  conversation  a  hue  and  tinge  of 
beauty  which  could  not  be  surpassed."  Lord  Cran- 
brook  reports  this  conversation  in  an  article  pub- 
lished in  the  "  National  Review,"  April,  1884. 

I  observed  that,  as  a  rule,  Wordsworth  allowed 
Coleridge  to  have  all  the  talk  to  himself  ;  but  once 
or  twice  Coleridge  would  succeed  in  entangling 
Wordsworth  in  a  discussion  on  some  abstruse  meta- 
physical question  ;  when  I  would  sit  by,  reverently 
attending,  and  trying  hard  to  look  intelligent, 
though  I  did  not  feel  so  ;  for  at  such  times  a  leaden 
stupor  weighed  down  my  faculties.  I  seemed  as  if 
I  had  been  transported  by  two  malignant  genii  into 
an  atmosphere  too  rarefied  for  me  to  live  in.  I  was 
soaring,  as  it  were,  'twixt  heaven  and  the  lower  parts 
of  the  earth.  .  .  .  When,  however,  these  potent 
spirits  descended  to  a  lower  level,  and  deigned  to 
treat  of  history  or  politics,  theology  or  belles  let- 
tres,  'I  breathed  again  ;  and,  imbibing  fresh  ideas 
from  them,  felt  invigorated. 

I  must  say  I  never  saw  any  manifestation  of  small 
jealousy  between  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth  ; 
which,  considering  the  vanity  possessed  by  each,  I 


"  Ckristo- 

fiker  North" 
ufion  Cole- 
ridge's  ecu- 
versiition. 


Coleridge 
and  IVords- 
ivof  ill  in 
conversa- 
tion. 


74 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Coleridge 

and  IVords- 

ivort/i  171 

coiiiiersa- 

iion. 


Prepara- 
tory to  talk. 


A  contrast. 


thought  uncommonly  to  the  credit  of  both.  I  am 
sure  they  entertained  a  thorough  respect  for  each 
other's  intellectual  endowments. — Julian  C.  Young 
("  Memoir  of  C.  M.  Young  "). 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Dr.  Channing,  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge ?  "  said  a  brisl<  young  gentleman  to  the  miglity 
discourser,  as  he  sat  next  him  at  a  small  tea-party. 
"Before  entering  upon  that  question,  sir,"  said 
Coleridge,  opening  upon  his  inquirer  those  "notice- 
able gray  eyes,"  with  a  vague  and  placid  stare,  and 
settling  himself  in  his  seat  for  the  night,  "  I  must 
put  you  in  possession  of  my  views,  ///  extenso,  on  the 
origin,  progress,  present  condition,  future  likeli- 
hoods, and  absolute  essence  of  the  Unitarian  con- 
troversy, and  especially  the  conclusions  I  have, 
upon  the  whole,  come  to  on  the  great  question  of 
what  may  be  termed  the  philosophy  of  religious  dif- 
ference."— Dr.  John  Brown  ("  Horse  Subsecivae  ").' 

If  Wordsworth  condescended  to  converse  Avith 
me,  he  spoke  to  me  as  if  I  were  his  equal  in  mind, 
and  made  me  pleased  and  proud  in  consequence.  If 
Coleridge  held  me  by  the  button,  for  lack  of  fitter 
audience,  he  had  a  talent  for  making  me  feel  Jiis 
wisdom  and  my  own  stupidity  ;  so  that  I  was  miser- 
able and  humiliated  by  the  sense  of  it. — Julian  C. 
Young  ("  Memoir  of  C.  M.  Young  "). 

Eminent  literary  men  have  often  been  remarkable 
for  the  fertility  of  their  conversation,  and  their 
powers  in  this  respect  have  not  unfrequently  been 


'  Brown  (John,  M.D.).    IIora;Sul)Sccivos.    2  vols.,  12  mo.    Edin- 
hurgh,  1858-61.    (Reprinted  in  Boston,  as  "  Spare  Hours,"  1866.) 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


n 


used  without  due  restraint  and  discrimination.  Cole- 
ridge was  no  exception  to  this  rule  ;  he  would  con- 
tinue to  talk  on  in  an  unbroken  flow,  and  connect 
his  arguments  and  observations  so  adroitly  that  un- 
til you  had  left  him  you  could  not  detect  their  fal- 
lacy. Mr.  Harness  called  on  him  one  day  with  Mil- 
man,  on  their  return  from  paying  a  visit  to  Joanna 
Baillie.  The  poet  seemed  unusually  inspired,  and 
rambled  on,  raising  his  hands  and  his  head  in  the 
manner  which  Charles  Matthews  so  cleverly  carica- 
tured ;  and  asserting,  among  other  strange  theories, 
that  Shakespeare  was  a  man  of  too  pure  a  mind  to 
be  able  to  depict  a  really  worthless  character.  "  All 
his  villains,"  he  said,  "  were  bad  upon  good  princi- 
ples ;  even  Caliban  had  something  good  in  him." 
Coleridge,  in  his  old  age,  became  a  characteristic 
feature  in  Highgate.  He  was  the  terror  and  amuse- 
ment of  all  the  little  children  who  bowled  their 
hoops  along  the  poplar  avenue.  Notwithstanding 
his  fondness  for  them — he  called  them  ''  Kingdom- 
of-Heavenites  " — his  Cyclopean  figure  and  learned 
language  caused  them  indescribable  alarm.  Some- 
times he  would  lay  his  hand  on  the  shoulders  of  one 
of  them,  and  walk  along  discoursing  metaphysics  to 
the  trembling  captive,  while  the  rest  fled  for  refuge 
and  peeped  out  with  laughing  faces  from  behind 
the  trees.  "  I  never,"  he  exclaimed  one  day  to  the 
baker's  boy — *'  I  never  knew  a  man  good  because  he 
was  religious,  but  I  have  known  one  religious  be- 
cause he  was  good." — A.  G.  L'Estrange  ("  Life  of 
W.  Harness").' 


»  L'Estrange  (Rev.  A.  G.).    The  Literary  Life  of  the  Rev.  Will- 
iam Harness.     London,  1S70. 


Discursive 

conversci- 

tion. 


76 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


Jit  the  fog. 


<4  suspicion. 


Dean 

lUihiittu't 

o/iinhn 

about  hit 

coimersiv- 

tion. 


When  he  confined  himself  to  his  "judgments, 
analytic  and  synthetic,"  I  had  a  glimmering  con- 
ception of  his  meaning  ;  but  when  he  gave  tongue 
on  "  a  priori  knowledge  and  a  posteriori  knowledge," 
and  spake  of  "  modality,"  and  of  the  "paralogism 
of  pure  reason,"  my  feeble  brain  reeled,  and  I  gasped 
for  escape  from  the  imaginary  and  chimerical  to  the 
material  and  practical. — Julian  C.  Young  ("  Me- 
moir of  C.  M.  Young  "). 

"yuly  i6th,  1825. — I  think  I  never  heard  Coleridge 
so  very  eloquent  as  to-day,  and  yet  it  was  painful  to 
find  myself  unable  to  recall  any  part  of  what  had  so 
delighted  me,  i.e.  anytliing  which  seemed  worthy  to 
be  noted  down.  So  that  I  could  not  but  suspect 
some  illusion  arising  out  of  the  impressive  tone 
and  the  mystical  language  of  the  orator.  He  talked 
on  for  several  hours  without  intermission. — Henry 
Crabb  Robinson  ("  Diary  "). 

The  Dean'  used  often  to  see  and  hear  S.  T.  Cole- 
ridge, but  liis  wonderful  talk  Avas  far  too  unvaried 
from  day  to  day  ;  also,  there  were  some  absolute 
deficiencies  in  it,  such  as  the  total  absence  of  wit  ; 
slill  it  was  very  remarkable.  "  lint,"  lie  added,  "  I 
used  to  be  wicked  enough  to  divide  it  into  three 
parts :  one-third  was  admirable,  beautiful  in  lan- 
quage  and  exalted  in  thought ;  another  third  was 
sheer  absolute  nonsense  ;  and  of  the  remaining  third, 
I  knew  not  wdiether  it  were  sense  or  nonsense." — 
Caroline  Fox  (*'  Memories  of  Old  Friends  "). 

•  Milman, 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


77 


Much 
puzzled. 


"Wordsworth  and  myself,"  said  Rogers,  "had 
walked  to  Highgate  to  call  on  Coleridge,  when  he 
was  livins:  at  Gillman's.  We  sat  with  him  two 
hours,  he  talking  the  whole  time  Avithout  intermis- 
sion. When  Ave  left  the  house,  we  walked  for  some 
time  without  speaking.  'What  a  wonderful  man 
he  is!'  exclaimed  Wordsworth.  'Wonderful,  in- 
deed,' said  I.  'What  depth  of  thought,  what  rich- 
ness of  expression  !  '  continued  Wordsworth. 
'There's  nothing  like  him  that  ever  I  heard,' re- 
joined I, — another  pause.  'Pray,'  inquired  Words- 
worth, '  did  you  precisely  understand  what  he  said 
about  the  Kantian  philosophy  ? '  R.  '  Not  pre- 
cisely.' W.  'Or  about  the  plurality  of  worlds?* 
R.  '  I  can't  say  I  did.  Indeed,  if  the  truth  must 
out,  I  did  not  understand  a  syllable  from  one  end 
of  his  monologue  to  the  other.'  JF.  '  No  more  did 
I.'  " — Axon.  {Edinburgh  Rez'iezv,  July,  1856). 


It  was  only  when  his  "  philosophy  "  (with  which 
he  abounded  on  all  occasions)  betrayed  him  into 
abstruse  paradoxes  and    metaphysical    refinements  ^'^^  air,-ays 

^  '      "  (rraiortciil — 

that  his  rich  colloq  uialism  took  the  shape  of  disser- 1     EasUy 

*  1        tuntfci 

tation,  and  was  delivered  with  a  fervid  eloquence,  aside. 
most  powerful  in  lecture,  but  subversive  of  conver- 
sation ;  and  these  bursts  were  so  admirable  that 
there  was  seldom  any  disposition  to  interrupt  him. 
When  it  did  occur  that  they  went  wandering  into 
all  coQfnate  matters  and  consonant  sentiments,  it 
was  the  easiest  thing  possible,  by  throwing  in  some 
absurd  remark  or  irrelevant  question,  to  divert  the 
current  into  quite  a  different  channel,  and  enjoy 
and  re-enjoy  the  versatility  and  depths  of  an  inex- 


78 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


Various 
accounts  of 
his  conver- 
sation.^ 


haustible   mind. — William  Jerdan  ("  Men   I    have 
Known  "). 

His  benignity  of  manner  placed  his  auditors  entire- 
ly at  their  ease  ;  and  inclined  them  to  listen  delighted 
to  the  sweet,  low  tone  in  wliich  he  began  to  dis- 
course on  some  high  theme.  Whether  he  had  won 
for  his  greedy  listener  only  some  raw  lad,  or 
charmed  a  circle  of  beauty,  rank,  and  wit,  who  hung 
breathless  on  his  words,  he  talked  with  equal  elo- 
quence ;  for  his  subject,  not  his  audience,  inspired 
him.  At  first  his  tones  were  conversational  ;  he 
seemed  to  dally  with  the  shallows  of  the  subject 
and  with  fantastic  images  which  bordered  it  ;  but 
gradually  the  thought  grew  deeper,  and  the  voice 
deepened  with  the  thought  ;  the  stream  gathering 
strength,  seemed  to  bear  along  with  it  all  things 
which  opposed  its  progress,  and  blended  them  with 
its  current  ;  and  stretching  away  into  regions  tinted 
with  ethereal  colors,  was  lost  at  airy  distance  in  the 
horizon  of  fancy.  His  hearers  were  unable  to  grasp 
his  theories,  which  were  indeed  too  vast  to  be  exhib- 
ited in  the  longest  conversation  ;  but  they  perceived 
noble  images,  generous  suggestions,  affecting  pic- 
tures of  virtue,  which  enriched  their  minds  and 
nurtured  their  best  affections.  .  .  .  He  usually 
met  opposition  by  conceding  the  point  to  the  ob- 
jector, and  then  went  on  with  his  high  argument 
as  if  it  had  never  been  raised  :  thus  satisfying  his 
antagonist,  himself,  and  all  who  heard  him  ;  none 


'  The  space  which  has  been  given  to  accounts  of  Coleridge's 
conversation  may  seem  disproportionately  large.  Readers  who 
find  the  subject  uninteresting  are  counselled  to  turn  to  p.  91. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERLDGE. 


79 


of  whom  desired  to  hear  his  discourse  frittered  into 
points,  or  displaced  by  the  near  encounter  even 
of  the  most  brilliant  wits. — Thomas  N.  Talfourd 
("  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb  ").' 

Coleridge  is  the  only  person  who  can  talk  to  all 
sorts  of  people,  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  w^ithout 
caring  a  farthing  for  their  understanding  one  word 
he  says — and  he  talks  only  for  admiration  and 
to  be  listened  to,  and  accordingly  the  least  inter- 
ruption puts  him  out.  I  iBrmly  believe  he  would 
make  just  the  same  impression  on  half  his  audi- 
ences, if  he  purposely  repeated  absolute  nonsense 
with  the  same  voice  and  manner  and  inexhausti- 
ble flow  of  undulating  speech  ! — William  Hazlitt 
("  Conversation  of  Authors  ").^ 

During  the  whole  of  his  residence  in  Bristol, 
there  was,  in  the  strict  sense,  little  of  the  true,  in- 
terchangeable conversation  in  Mr.  C.  On  almost 
every  subject  on  which  he  essayed  to  speak,  he 
made  an  impassioned  harangue  of  a  quarter,  or 
half  an  hour. — Joseph  Cottle  ("Reminiscences  of 
Coleridge  and  Southey  "). 

After  dinner  he  got  up,  and  began  pacing  to  and 
fro,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  talking  and 
walking,  as  Lamb  laughingly  hinted,  as  if  qualify- 
ing for  an  itinerant  preacher ;  now  fetching  a 
simile   from   Loddige's  garden,   at    Hackney ;    and 

'  Talfourd  (Thomas  N.).  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb,  with  a 
Sketch  of  his  Life.      2  vols.,  l2mo.      London,  1837. 

2  Hazlitt  (William).  The  Plain  Speaker  ;  Opinions  on  Books, 
Men,  and  Things.     2  vols.,  8vo,     London,  1826. 


Various 
accounts  of 
his  com<er- 

St)ti07l. 


8o 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Con7'ersa- 
tion. 


then  driving  off  for  an  illustration  to  the  sugar- 
making  in  Jamaica.  With  his  fine,  flowing  v^oice, 
it  was  glorious  music,  of  the  "  never-ending,  still- 
beginning"  kind  :  and  you  did  not  wish  it  to  end. 
It  was  rare  flying,  as  in  the  Nassau  Balloon  ;  you 
knew  not  whither,  nor  did  you  care.  Like  his  own 
bright-eyed  Marinere,  he  had  a  spell  in  his  voice 
that  would  not  let  you  go.  To  describe  my  own 
feeling  afterward,  I  had  been  carried,  spiralling, 
up  to  heaven  by  a  whirlwind  intertwisted  with  sun- 
beams, giddy  and  dazzled,  but  not  displeased,  and 
had  then  been  rained  down  again  with  a  shower  of 
mundane  stocks  and  stones  that  battered  out  of  me 
all  recollection  of  what  I  had  heard,  and  what  I  had 
seen  ! — Thomas  Hood  ("  Literary  Reminiscences").* 

One  day,  when  dining  with  some  lawyers,  he  had 
been  more  than  usually  eloquent  and  full  of  talk. 
His  perpetual  interruptions  were  resented  by  one  of 
the  guests,  who  said  to  his  neighbor,  "  I'll  stop  this 
fellow  ;  "  and  thereupon  addressed  the  master  of  the 

house  Vv'ith  "  G ,  I've  not  forgotten  my  promise  to 

give  you  the  extract  from  '  The  Pandects.'  It  was 
the  ninth  chapter  that  you  were  alluding  to.  It  be- 
gins :  *Ac  veteres  quidam  philosophi.' "  "Pardon 
me,  sir,"  interposed  Coleridge,  "there  I  think  you 
are  in  error.  The  ninth  chapter  begins  in  this  way, 
'Incident  ssepe  causae,  etc'  "  It  was  in  vain  to  re- 
fer to  anything  on  the  supposition  that  the  poet  was 
ignorant,  for  he  really  had  some  acquaintance  with 
every  subject. — Brvan  W.  Procter  ("  Recollections 
of  Men  of  Letters  "). 

'  Hood  (Thomas).  Works.   4  vols.,  i2mo.    New  York,  1852-53. 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


8i 


Coleridge  was  prodigal  of  his  words,  which  in  fact 
he  could  with  difficulty  suppress  ;  but  he  seldom 
talked  of  himself  or  of  his  affairs. — B.  W.  Procter 
("  Recollections  of  Men  of  Letters  "). 

In  illustration  of  his  unfailing  talk,  I  will  give  an 
account  of  one  of  his  days,  when  I  was  present. 
He  had  come  from  Highgate  to  London,  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  consulting  a  friend  about  his  son 
Hartley  ("our  dear  Hartley"),  towards  whom  he 
expressed,  and  I  have  no  doubt  felt,  much  anxiety. 
He  arrived  about  one  or  two  o'clock,  in  the  midst 
of  a  conversation,  which  immediately  began  to  in- 
terest him.  He  struck  into  the  middle  of  the  talk 
very  soon,  and  "  held  the  ear  of  the  house  "  until 
dinner  made  its  appearance  about  four  o'clock.  He 
then  talked  all  through  dinner,  all  the  afternoon, 
all  the  evening,  with  scarcely  a  single  interruption. 
He  expatiated  on  this  subject  and  on  that  ;  he  drew 
fine  distinctions  ;  he  made  subtle  criticisms.  He 
descended  to  anecdotes,  historical,  logical,  rhetori- 
cal ;  he  dealt  with  law,  medicine,  and  divinity,  until, 
at  last,  five  minutes  before  eight  o'clock,  the  servant 
came  in  and  announced  that  the  Highgate  stage 
was  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  was  waiting  to 
convey  Mr.  Coleridge  home.  Coleridge  immedi- 
ately started  up  oblivious  of  all  time,  and  said  in  a 

hurried  voice,  "  My  dear  Z ,  I  will  come  to  you 

some  other  day,  and  talk  to  you  about  our  dear 
Hartley."  He  had  quite  forgotten  his  son  and 
everybody  else,  in  the  delight  of  having  such  an  en- 
raptured audience. — B.  W.  Procter  ("Recollections 
of  Men  of  Letters"). 
III.— 6 


Conversa- 
tion. 


82 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Cam>ersa- 

tiott. 


Coleridge  was  not  without  what  talkers  call  Avit, 
and  there  were  touches  of  prickly  sarcasm  in  him, 
contemptuous  enough  of  the  world  and  its  idols 
and  popular  dignitaries ;  he  had  traits  even  of 
poetic  humor :  but  in  general  he  seemed  deficient 
in  laughter  ;  or  indeed  in  sympathy  for  concrete 
human  beings  either  on  the  sunny  or  the  stormy 
side.  One  right  peal  of  concrete  laughter  at  some 
convicted  flcsh-and-blood  absurdity,  one  burst  of 
noble  indignation  at  some  injustice  or  depravity, 
rubbing  elbows  with  us  on  this  solid  Earth,  how 
strange  would  it  have  been  in  that  Kantean  haze- 
world,  and  how  infinitely  cheering  amid  its  vacant 
air-castles  and  dim-melting  ghosts  and  shadows  ! 
None  such  ever  came.  His  life  had  been  an  ab- 
stract thinking  and  dreaming,  idealistic,  passed 
amid  the  ghosts  of  defunct  bodies  and  of  unborn 
ones.  The  moaning  sing-song  of  that  theosophico- 
metaphysical  monotony  left  on  you,  at  last,  a  very 
dreary  feeling. — Thomas  Carlyle  ("  Life  of  Ster- 
ling "). 

I  have  heard  Coleridge  talk,  with  eager  musical 
energy,  two  stricken  hours,  his  face  radiant  and 
moist,  and  communicate  no  meaning  whatsoever 
to  any  individual  of  his  hearers, — certain  of  whom, 
I  for  one,  still  kept  eagerly  listening  in  hope  ;  the 
most  had  long  before  given  up,  and  formed  (if  the 
room  were  large  enough)  secondary  humming 
groups  of  their  own.  He  began  anywhere  :  you 
put  some  question  to  him  ;  made  some  suggestive 
observation  ;  instead  of  answering  this,  or  decidedly 
setting  out  towards  answer  of  it,  he  would  accumu- 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


83 


late  formidable  apparatus,  logical  swim-bladders, 
transcendental  life-preservers,  and  other  precaution- 
ary and  vehiculatory  gear,  for  setting  out  ;  perhaps 
did  at  last  get  under  way, — but  was  swiftly  solicited, 
turned  aside  by  the  glance  of  some  radiant  new 
game  on  this  hand  or  that,  into  new  courses  ;  and 
ever  into  new  ;  and  before  long  into  all  the  Uni- 
verse, where  it  was  uncertain  what  game  you  would 
catch,  or  whether  any. 

His  talk,  alas,  was  distinguished,  like  himself,  by 
irresolution  :  it  disliked  to  be  troubled  with  con- 
ditions, abstinences,  definite  fulfillments  ; — loved  to 
wander  at  its  own  sweet  will,  and  make  its  auditor 
and  his  claims  and  humble  wishes  a  mere  passive 
bucket  for  itself !  He  had  knowledge  about  many 
things  and  topics,  much  curious  reading  ;  but  gen- 
erally all  topics  led  him,  after  a  pass  or  two,  into 
the  high  seas  of  theosophic  philosophy,  the  hazy 
infinitude  of  Kantean  transcendentalism,  with  its 
"  sum-m-mjects  "  and  "  om-m-mjects."  Sad  enough  ; 
for  with  such  indolent  impatience  of  the  claims  and 
ignorances  of  others,  he  had  not  the  least  talent  for 
explaining  this  or  anything  unknown  to  them  ;  and 
you  swam  and  fluttered  in  the  mistiest  wide  unin- 
telligible deluge  of  things,  for  the  most  part  in  a 
rather  profitless  uncomfortable  manner. 

Glorious  islets,  too,  I  have  seen  rise  out  of  the 
haze  ;  but  they  were  few,  and  soon  swallowed  in  the 
general  element  again.  Balmy,  sunny  islets,  islets 
of  the  blest  and  the  intelligible  ;— on  which  occa- 
sions those  secondary  humming  groups  would  all 
cease  humming,  and  hang  breathless  upon  the  elo- 
quent words  ;  till  once  your  islet  got  wrapt  in  the 


Conversi- 
tion. 


84 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Com'ersa- 
tion. 


mist  again,  and  they  could  recommence  humming. 
Eloquent  artistically  expressive  words  you  always 
had  ;  piercing  radiances  of  a  most  subtle  insight 
came  at  intervals  ;  tones  of  noble  pious  sympathy, 
recognizable  as  pious,  though  strangely  colored, 
were  never  wanting  long  :  but  in  general  you  could 
not  call  this  aimless,  cloud-capt,  cloud-based,  law- 
lessly meandering  human  discourse  of  reason  by  the 
name  of  "excellent  talk,"  but  only  of  "surprising"  ; 
and  were  reminded  bitterly  of  Hazlitt's  account  of 
it :  "  Excellent  talker,  very, — if  you  let  him  start 
from  no  premises  and  come  to  no  conclusion." — 
Thomas  Carlyle  ("  Life  of  Sterling  "). 

Nothing  could  be  more  copious  than  his  talk  ; 
and  furthermore  it  was  always  virtually  or  literally, 
of  the  nature  of  a  monologue  ;  suffering  no  inter- 
ruption, however  reverent  ;  hastily  putting  aside  all 
foreign  additions,  annotations,  or  most  ingenious 
devices  for  elucidation,  as  well-meant  superfluities 
which  Avould  never  do.  Besides,  it  was  talk  not 
flowing  anywhither  like  a  river,  but  spreading 
ev'ery whither  in  inextricable  currents  and  regurgi- 
tations like  a  lake  or  sea  ;  terribly  deficient  in  defi- 
nite goal  or  aim,  nay  often  in  logical  intelligibility  ; 
xvhat  you  were  to  believe  or  do,  on  any  earthly  or 
heavenly  thing,  obstinately  refusing  to  appear  from 
it.  So  that,  most  times,  you  felt  logically  lost  ; 
swamped  near  to  drowning  in  this  tide  of  ingenious 
vocables,  spreading  out  boundless  as  if  to  submerge 
the  world. — Thomas  Carlyle  {"  Life  of  Sterling  "). 

My  impressions  of  tlie  man  and  of  the  place  are 
conveyed  faithfully   enough   in  the  "  Life  of  Ster- 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


85 


ling  ; "  that  first  interview  in  particular,  of  which  I 
had  expected  very  little,  was  idle  and  unsatisfactory, 


and  yielded  me  nothing.  Coleridge,  a  puffy,  anx- 
ious, obstructed-looking,  fattish  old  man,  hobbled 
about  with  us,  talking  with  a  kind  of  solemn  em- 
phasis on  matters  which  were  of  no  interest  (and 
even  reading  pieces  in  proof  of  his  opinions  thereon). 
I  had  him  to  myself  once  or  twice,  in  various  parts 
of  the  garden  walks,  and  tried  hard  to  get  some- 
thing about  Kant  and  Co.  from  him,  about  "  reason" 
versus  "understanding"  and  the  like,  but  in  vain. 
Nothino:  came  from  him  that  was  of  use  to  me  that 
day,  or  in  fact  any  day.  The  sight  and  sound  of  a 
sage  who  was  so  venerated  by  those  about  me,  and 
whom  I  too  would  willingly  have  venerated,  but 
could  not — this  was  all.  Several  times  afterward, 
Montague,  on  Coleridge's  "Thursday  evenings," 
carried  Irving  and  me  out,  and  returned  blessing 
Heaven  (I  not)  for  what  he  had  received.  Irving 
and  I  walked  out  more  than  once  on  mornings  too, 
and  found  the  Dodona  oracle  humanly  ready  to  act, 
but  never  to  me,  or  Irving  either  I  suspect,  explan- 
atory of  the  question  put.  Good  Irving  strove 
always  to  think  that  he  was  getting  priceless  wisdom 
out  of  this  great  man,  but  must  have  had  his  mis- 
givings. Except  by  the  Montague-Irving  channel, 
I  at  no  time  communicated  with  Coleridge.  I  had 
never  on  my  own  strength  had  much  esteem  for 
him,  and  found  slowly  in  spite  of  myself  that  I  was 
getting  to  have  less  and  less.  Early  in  iJi25  was  my 
last  sight  of  him  ;  a  print  of  Porson  brought  some 
trifling  utterance  :  "  Sensuality  such  a  dissolution  of 
the  features  of   a   man's   face  : "    and  I  remember 


Conversa- 
tion. 


86 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Comiersa- 
tion. 


nothing    more. — Thomas   Carlyle    ("  Reminiscen- 
ces"). 

In  a  letter  written  in  1824,  published  by  Mr. 
Froude,  Carlyle  says:  "The  conversation  of  the 
man  is  much  as  I  anticipated — a  forest  of  thoughts, 
some  true,  many  false,  more  part  dubious,  all  of 
them  ingenious  in  some  degree,  often  in  a  high  de- 
gree. But  there  is  no  method  in  his  talk  :  he  wan- 
ders like  a  man  sailing  among  many  currents,  whith- 
ersoever his  lazy  mind  directs  him  ;  and,  what  is 
more  unpleasant,  he  preaches,  or  rather  soliloquizes. 
He  cannot  speak,  he  can  only  tal-k  (so  he  names  it). 
Hence  I  found  him  unprofitable,  even  tedious." 

Coleridge  led  me  to  a  drawing-room,  rang  the 
bell  for  refreshments,  and  omitted  no  point  of  a 
courteous  reception.  He  told  me  that  there  would 
be  a  very  large  dinner  party  on  that  day,  which, 
perhaps,  might  be  disagreeable  to  a  perfect  stran- 
ger ;  but,  if  not,  he  could  assure  me  of  a  most  hos- 
pitable welcome  from  the  family.  I  was  too  anxious 
to  see  him  under  all  aspects  to  think  of  declining 
the  invitation.  And  these  little  points  of  business 
being  settled — Coleridge,  like  some  great  river,  the 
Orellana,  or  the  St.  Lawrence,  which  had  been 
checked  and  fretted  by  rocks  or  thwarting  islands, 
and  suddenly  recovers  its  volume  of  waters,  and  its 
mighty  music,  swept  at  once,  as  if  returning  to  his 
natural  business,  into  a  continuous  strain  of  eloquent 
dissertation,  certainly  the  most  novel,  the  most  finely 
illustrated,  and  traversing  the  most  spacious  fields 
of  thought,  by  transitions  the  most  just  and  logical, 
that  it  was  possible  to  conceive. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


87 


What  I  mean  by  saying  that  his  transitions  were 
"just,"  is  by  way  of  contradistinction  to  that  mode 
of  conversation  which  courts  variety  by  means  of 
f'^r^^/ connections.  Coleridge,  to  many  people,  and 
often  I  have  heard  the  complaint,  seemed  to  wan- 
der ;  and  he  seemed  then  to  wander  the  most,  when 
in  fact  his  resistance  to  the  wandering  instinct  was 
greatest, — viz.,  when  the  compass,  and  huge  circuit, 
by  which  his  illustrations  moved,  travelled  farthest 
into  remote  regions,  before  they  began  to  revolve. 
Long  before  this  coming-round  commenced,  most 
people  had  lost  him,  and  naturally  enough  supposed 
that  he  had  lost  himself.  They  continued  to  admire 
the  separate  beauty  of  the  thoughts,  but  did  not  see 
their  relations  to  the  dominant  theme.  Had  the 
conversation  been  thrown  upon  paper,  it  might 
have  been  easy  to  trace  the  continuity  of  the  links. 
.  .  .  I  can  assert,  upon  my  long  and  intimate 
knowledge  of  Coleridge's  mind,  that  logic,  the  most 
severe,  was  as  inalienable  from  his  modes  of  think- 
ing, as  grammar  from  his  language. — Thomas  De 
QuiNCEY  ("Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

He  (Wordsworth)  said  that  the  liveliest  and  truest 
image  he  could  give  of  Coleridge's  talk  was,  "that 
of  a  majestic  river,  the  sound  or  sight  of  whose 
course  you  caught  at  intervals,  which  was  some- 
times concealed  by  forests,  sometimes  lost  in  sand, 
then  came  flashing  out  broad  and  distinct,  then 
again  took  a  turn  which  yo^r  eye  could  not  follow, 
yet  you  knew  and  felt  that  it  was  the  same  river : 
so,"  he  said,  "there  was  always  a  train,  a  stream,  in 
Coleridge's  discourse,  always  a  connection  between 


Conversa- 
tion. 


88 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


its  parts  in  his  own  mind,  though  one  not  always 
perceptible  to  the  minds  of  others." — Mrs.  Davy 
(Quoted  in  Wordsworth's  "  Life  of  Wordsworth  "). 


Conversa- 
tion. 


His  ordinary  manner  was  plain  and  direct 
enough  ;  and  even  when,  as  sometimes  happened, 
he  seemed  to  ramble  from  the  road,  and  to  lose 
himself  in  a  wilderness  of  digressions,  the  truth 
was,  that  at  that  very  time  he  was  working  out  his 
foreknown  conclusion  through  an  almost  miracu- 
lous logic,  the  difficulty  of  which  consisted  precise- 
ly in  the  very  fact  of  its  minuteness  and  universal- 
ity. He  took  so  large  a  scope,  that,  if  he  was 
interrupted  before  he  got  to  the  end,  he  appeared 
to  have  been  talking  without  an  object  ;  although, 
perhaps,  a  few  steps  more  w^ould  have  brought  you 
to  a  point,  a  retrospect  from  which  would  show  you 
the  pertinence  of  all  he  had  been  saying.  I  have 
heard  persons  complain  that  they  could  get  no  an- 
swer to  a  question  from  Coleridge.  The  trutli  is, 
he  answered,  or  meant  to  answer,  so  fully,  that  the 
querist  should  have  no  second  question  to  ask.  In 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  saw  he  question  was  short 
or  misdirected  ;  and  knew  that  a  mere  yes  or  no 
answer  could  not  embrace  the  truth — that  is,  the 
whole  truth,  and  might,  very  probably,  by  implica- 
tion, convey  error.  Hence  that  exhavistive,  cycli- 
cal mode  of  discoursing  in  which  he  frequently  in- 
dulged.    .     .     . 

Mr.  Coleridge's  conversation  at  all  times  required 
attention,  because  what  he  said  was  so  individual 
and  unexpected.  But  when  he  was  dealing  deeply 
with  a  question,  the  demand  upon  the  intellect  of 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


89 


the  hearer  was  very  great  ;  not  so  much  for  any 
hardness  of  language,  for  his  diction  was  always 
simple  and  easy  ;  nor  for  the  abstruseness  of  the 
thoughts,  for  they  generally  explained,  or  appeared 
to  explain,  themselves  ;  but  pre-eminently  on  ac- 
count of  the  seeming  remoteness  of  his  associations, 
and  the  exceeding  subtlety  of  his  transitional  links. 
—Henry  N.  Coleridge  ("  Table-Talk  of  S.  T.  C.")-' 

The  manner  of  Coleridge  was  rather  emphatic 
than  dogmatic,  and  thus  he  was  generally  and  satis- 
factorily listened  to.  There  was  neither  the  bow- 
wow nor  the  growl  which  seemed  usually  to  char- 
acterize Johnson's  method  of  speaking ;  and  his 
periods  were  more  lengthened  and  continuous. 
.  .  .  Coleridge  was  a  mannerist.  It  was  always 
the  same  tone — in  the  same  style  of  expression — 
not  quick  and  bounding  enough  to  diffuse  instant 
and  general  vivacity.  .  .  .  There  was  always 
this  characteristic  feature  in  his  multifarious  con- 
versation— it  was  delicate,  reverend,  and  courteous. 
— Thomas  F.  Dibdin  ("  Reminiscences  of  a  Literary 
Life  ").' 

His  eloquence  threw  a  new  and  beautiful  light 
on  most  subjects,  and  when  he  was  beyond  my 
comprehension,  the  melody  of  his  voice,  and  the 
impressiveness  of  his  manner  held  me  a  willing  lis- 

'  Coleridge  (Henry  N.,  Eaitoi-).  Specimens  of  the  Table-Talk 
of  S.  T.  Coleridge.      2  vols.,  l6mo.      New  York,  1835. 

"^  Dibdin  (Thomas  Frognall).  Reminiscences  of  a  Literary  Life. 
8vo.     London,  1836. 


Coniiersa' 
tion. 


90 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Con7'ersa- 
tion. 


tener,  and  I  was  flattered  at  being  supposed  capa- 
ble of  understanding  him.  Indeed,  men  far  ad- 
vanced beyond  myself  in  education  might  have  felt 
as  children  in  his  presence. — Charles  R.  Leslie 
("  Autobiographical  Recollections  "). 

Those  who  remember  him  in  his  more  vigorous 
days  can  bear  witness  to  the  peculiarity  and  trans- 
cendant  power  of  his  conversational  eloquence.  It 
was  unlike  anything  that  could  be  heard  elsewhere  ; 
the  kind  was  different,  the  degree  was  different,  the 
manner  W'as  different.  The  boundless  range  of  sci- 
entific knowledge,  the  brilliancy  and  exquisite  nice- 
ty of  illustration,  the  deep  and  ready  reasoning,  the 
strangeness  and  immensity  of  bookish  lore — were 
not  all  ;  the  dramatic  story,  the  joke,  the  pun,  the 
festivity,  must  be  added — and  with  these  the  clerical- 
looking  dress,  the  thick  waving  silver  hair,  the 
youthful  colored  cheek,  the  indefinable  mouth  and 
lips,  the  quick  yet  steady  and  penetrating  greenish 
gray  eye,  the  slow  and  continuous  enunciation,  and 
the  everlasting  music  of  his  tones,— all  went  to  make 
up  the  image  and  to  constitute  the  living  presence  of 
the  man.  He  is  now  no  longer  young.  .  .  .  His 
natural  force  is  indeed  abated ;  but  his  eye  is  not 
dim,  neither  is  his  mind  yet  enfeebled.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Coleridge's  conversation,  it  is  true,  has  not  now  all 
the  brilliant  versatility  of  his  former  years  ;  yet  we 
know  not  w^hethcr  the  contrast  between  his  bodily 
weakness  and  his  mental  power  does  not  leave  a 
deeper  and  a  more  solemnly  affecting  impression, 
than  his  most  brilliant  displays  in  youth  could  ever 
have  done.     To  see  the  pain-stricken  countenance 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


91 


relax,  and  the  contracted  frame  dilate  under  the 
kindling  of  intellectual  fire  alone — to  watch  the  in- 
firmities of  the  flesh  shrinking  out  of  sight,  or  glori- 
fied and  transfigured  in  the  brightness  of  the  awak- 
ening spirit — is  an  awful  object  of  contemplation  ; 
and  in  no  other  person  did  we  ever  witness  such  a 
distinction, — nay,  alienation  of  mind  from  body, — 
such  a  mastery  of  the  purely  intellectual  over  the 
purely  corporeal,  as  in  the  instance  of  this  remark- 
able man.  Even  now  his  conversation  is  character- 
ized by  all  the  essentials  of  its  former  excellence  ; 
there  is  the  same  individuality,  the  same  unexpect- 
edness, the  same  universal  grasp  ;  nothing  is  too 
high,  nothing  too  low  for  it :  it  glances  from  earth 
to  heaven,  from  heaven  to  earth,  with  a  speed  and  a 
splendor,  an  ease  and  a  power,  which  almost  seem 
inspired. — Anon.  {^Quarterly  Review,  1834). 

Dec.  e^th,  181 1.  Accompanied  Mrs.  Rutt  to  Cole- 
ridge's lecture.  In  this  he  surpassed  himself  in  the 
art  of  talking  in  a  very  interesting  way,  without 
speaking  at  all  on  the  subject  announced.  Accord- 
ing to  advertisement,  he  was  to  lecture  on  "Romeo 
and  Juliet "  and  Shakespeare's  female  characters. 
Instead  of  this  he  began  with  a  defence  of  school- 
flogging,  in  preference  at  least  to  Lancaster's  mode 
of  punishing,  without  pretending  to  find  the  least 
connection  between  that  topic  and  poetry.  After- 
wards he  remarked  on  the  character  of  the  age  of 
Elizabeth  and  James  I.  as  compared  with  that  of 
Charles  I.;  distinguished  not  very  clearly  between 
wit  and  fancy  ;  referred  to  the  different  languages 
of  Europe  ;  attacked  the  fashionable  notion  concern- 


Conversa- 
tion. 


As  a 
lecturer. 


92 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


As  a 
lecturer. 


ing  poetic  diction  :  ridiculed  the  tautology  of  John- 
son's line,  "  If  observation  with  extensive  view," 
etc.  ;  and  warmly  defended  Shakespeare  against  the 
charge  of  impurity.  While  Coleridge  was  comment- 
ing on  Lancaster's  mode  of  punishing  boys,  Lamb 
whispered,  "  It  is  a  pity  he  did  not  leave  this  till  he 
got  to  '  Henry  VI.,'  for  then  he  might  say  he  could 
not  help  taking  part  against  the  Lancastrians." 
Afterwards,  when  Coleridge  was  running  from  topic 
to  topic.  Lamb  said,  "  This  is  not  much  amiss.  He 
promised  a  lecture  on  the  Nurse  in  '  Romeo  and 
Juliet,'  and  in  its  place  he  has  given  us  one  in  the 
manner  of  the  Nurse." 

Dec.  i7)th,  1811. — (To  Mrs.  Clarkson.)  He  confined 
himself  to  "  Romeo  and  Juliet  "  for  a  time,  treated 
of  the  inferior  characters,  and  delivered  a  most  elo- 
quent discourse  on  love,  with  a  promise  to  point  out 
how  Shakespeare  has  shown  the  same  truths  in  the 
persons  of  the  lovers.  Yesterday  we  were  to  have  a 
continuation  of  the  theme.  Alas  !  Coleridge  began 
with  a  parallel  between  religion  and  love,  which, 
though  one  of  his  favorite  themes,  he  did  not  man- 
age successfully.  Romeo  and  Juliet  were  forgotten. 
And  in  the  next  lecture  we  are  really  to  hear  some- 
thing of  these  lovers.  Now  this  will  be  the  fourth 
time  that  his  hearers  have  been  invited  expressly  to 
hear  of  this  play.  There  are  to  be  only  fifteen  lect- 
ures altogether  (half  have  been  delivered),  and  the 
course  is  to  include  Sliakespeare  and  Milton,  the 
modern  poets,  etc.  I  !  !  Instead  of  a  lecture  on  a 
definite  subject,  we  have  an  immethodical  rhapsody, 
very  delightful  to  you  and  me,  and  only  offensive 
from  the  certainty  that  it  may  and  ought  to  offend 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


93 


those  who  come  with  other  expectations.  Yet,  with 
all  this,  I  cannot  but  be  charmed  with  these  splcn- 
dida  vitia,  and  my  chief  displeasure  is  occasioned  by 
my  being  forced  to  hear  the  strictures  of  persons  in- 
finitely below  Coleridge,  without  any  power  of  re- 
futing or  contradicting  them. — Henry  Crabb  Robin- 
son ("Diary"). 

I  had  received  directions  for  finding  out  the  house 
where  Coleridge  was  visiting ;  and  in  riding  down  a 
main  street  of  Bridgewater,  I  noticed  a  gateway  cor- 
responding to  the  description  given  me.  Under 
this  was  standing,  and  gazing  about  him,  a  man 
whom  I  shall  describe.  In  height  he  might  seem  to 
be  about  five  feet  eight  (he  was  in  reality  about  an 
inch  and  a  half  taller,  but  his  figure  was  of  an  order 
which  drowns  the  height)  ;  his  person  was  broad  and 
full,  and  tended  even  to  corpulence  ;  his  complex- 
ion was  fair,  though  not  what  painters  technically 
style  fair,  because  it  was  associated  with  black  hair  ; 
his  eyes  were  large  and  soft  in  their  expression,  and 
it  was  from  the  peculiar  appearance  of  haze  or 
dreaminess,  which  mixed  with  their  light,  that  I 
recognized  my  object.  This  was  Coleridge.  I  ex- 
amined him  steadfastly  for  a  minute  or  more,  and  it 
struck  me  that  he  saw  neither  myself  nor  any  other 
object  in  the  street.  He  was  in  a  deep  reverie,  for 
I  had  dismounted,  made  two  or  three  trifling  ar- 
rangements at  an  inn  door,  and  advanced  close  to 
him,  before  he  had  apparently  become  conscious  of 
my  presence.  The  sound  of  my  voice,  announcing 
my  own  name,  first  awoke  him  ;  he  started,  and,  for  a 
moment,  seemed  at  a  loss  to  understand  my  pur- 


As  a 
lecturer. 


De  Quin- 
ccy's  Jint 
intervieiii 

iiiit/t 
Coleridge. 


94 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


pose  or  his  own  situation  ;  for  he  repeated  rapidly  a 
number  of  words  which  had  no  relation  to  either  of 
us.  There  was  no  mauvaise  honte  in  his  manner,  but 
simple  perplexity,  and  an  apparent  difficulty  in 
recovering  his  position  among  daylight  realities. 
This  little  scene  over,  he  received  me  w^ith  a  kind- 
ness of  manner  so  marked  tliat  it  might  be  called 
gracious. — Thomas  De  Quincey  ("  Literary  Remi- 
niscences "). 


De  Quin- 
(  eys  first 
intervieiv 

iiiith 
Coleridge. 


An  unex- 

f>ected 
meeting. 


I  had  scarcely  entered  the  room,  and  was  trying 
to  improve  a  bad  sketch  I  had  made  the  day  before, 
when  an  old  gentleman  entered,  Avith  a  large  quarto 
volume  beneath  his  arm.  .  .  .  As  he  entered,  I 
rose  and  bowed.  Whether  he  was  conscious  of  my 
well-intentioned  civility  I  cannot  say,  but  at  all 
events  he  did  not  return  my  sakitation.  He  ap- 
peared preoccupied  with  his  own  cogitations.  I  be- 
gan to  conjecture  what  manner  of  man  he  was. 
His  general  appearance  would  have  led  me  to  sup- 
pose him  a  dissenting  minister.  His  hair  was  long, 
white,  and  neglected  ;  his  complexion  was  florid, 
his  features  were  square,  his  eyes  watery  and  hazy, 
his  brow  broad  and  massive,  his  build  uncouth,  his 
deportment  grave  and  abstracted.  He  wore  a  white 
starchless  neckclotli  tied  in  a  limp  bow,  and  was 
dressed  in  a  shabby  suit  of  dusky  black.  His 
breeches  were  unbuttoned  at  the  knee,  his  stiu'dy 
limbs  were  encased  in  stockings  of  lavender-colored 
worsted,  his  feet  were  thrust  into  well-worn  slippers 
much  trodden  down  at  heel.  In  this  ungainly  attire 
he  paced  u[)  and  down,  and  down  and  up,  and 
round  and  round  a  saloon  sixty  feet  square,  with 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


95 


head  bent  forward,  and  shoulders  stooping,  absently 
musing,  and  muttering  to  himself,  and  occasionally 
clutching  to  his  side  his  ponderous  tome,  as  if  he 
feared  it  might  be  taken  from  him.  I  confess  my 
young  spirit  chafed  under  the  wearing  quarter-deck 
monotony  of  his  promenade,  and,  stung  by  the  cool 
manner  in  which  he  ignored  my  presence,  I  was 
about  to  leave  him  in  undisputed  possession  of  the 
field,  when  I  was  diverted  from  my  purpose  by  the 
entrance  of  another  gentleman,  whose  kindly  smile, 
and  courteous  recognition  of  my  bow,  encouraged 
me  to  keep  my  ground,  and  promised  me  some 
compensation  for  the  slight  put  upon  me  by  his 
precursor. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  brown  holland  blouse  ;  he 
held  in  his  left  hand  an  alpenstock  (on  the  top  of 
which  he  had  placed  the  broad-brimmed  "  wide- 
awake "  he  had  just  taken  off),  and  in  his  right  hand 
a  sprig  of  apple  blossom  overgrown  with  lichen. 
His  cheeks  were  glowing  with  the  effects  of  recent 
exercise.  So  noiseless  had  been  his  entry,  that  the 
peripatetic  philosopher,  whose  back  was  turned  to 
him  at  first,  was  unaware  of  his  presence.  But  no 
sooner  did  he  discover  it  than  he  shuffled  up  to  him, 
grasped  him  by  both  hands,  and  backed  him  bodily 
into  a  neighboring  arm-chair.  Having  secured  him 
there,  he  "made  assurance  doubly  sure,"  by  hanging 
over  him,  so  as  to  bar  his  escape,  while  he  delivered 
his  testimony  on  the  fallacy  of  certain  of  Bishop 
Berkeley's  propositions,  in  detecting  which,  he  said, 
he  had  opened  up  a  rich  vein  of  original  reflection. 
Not  content  with  cursory  criticism,  he  plunged  pro- 
foundly into  a  metaphysical  lecture,  which,  but  for 


Coleridge 

and  Words- 

nvorth  on  a 

jaunt. 


96 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERLDGE. 


Coleridge 

II  nd  I  yards- 

irortli  on  a 

Jaunt. 


An  in /inn 
will. 


Indecision 

and  lack  of 

energy. 


the  opportune  intrusion  of  our  fair  hostess  and  her 
young  lady  friend,  might  have  lasted  until  dinner 
time.  It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  I  learned  who 
the  party  consisted  of  ;  and  I  was  introduced  to 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  William  Wordsworth,  and 
his  daughter  Dora  (1828). — Julian  C.  Young  ("Me- 
moir of  C.  M.  Young  "). 

Southey  and  Wordsworth,  both  well  qualified  to 
form  a  correct  judgment  of  the  case,  thus  speak  of 
Coleridge's  want  of  moral  firmness.  Southey  writes 
to  John  Rickman,  in  1804,  "  He  is  worse  in  body 
than  you  seem  to  believe ;  but  the  main  cause  lies 
in  his  own  management  of  himself,  or,  rather,  want 
of  management.  His  mind  is  in  a  perfect  St.  Vitus's 
dance — eternal  activity  without  action.  At  times 
he  feels  mortified  that  he  should  have  done  so  little  ; 
but  this  feeling  never  produces  any  exertion.  '  I 
will  begin  to-morrow,'  he  says,  and  thus  he  has  been 
all  his  life-long  letting  to-day  slip."  Wordsworth  is 
quoted,  in  Rev.  C.  Wordsworth's  Memoir  of  him, 
as  follows  : — "  Of  all  men  whom  I  have  ever  known, 
Coleridge  had  the  most  of  passive  courage  in  bodily 
trial,  but  no  one  was  so  easily  cowed  when  moral 
firmness  was  required  in  miscellaneous  conversation, 
or  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  social  life." 

Coleridge  had  a  weighty  head,  dreaming  gray 
eyes,  full,  sensual  lips,  and  a  look  and  manner 
which  were  entirely  wanting  in  firmness  and  de- 
cision. His  motions  also  appeared  weak  and  un- 
decided, and  his  voice  had  nothing  of  the  sharpness 
or  ring  of  a  resolute    man.      When  he   spoke   his 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 


97 


words  were  thick  and  slow,  and  when  he  read 
poetry  his  utterance  was  altogether  a  chant. — 
Byran  W.  .Procter  ("  Recollections  of  Men  of 
Letters  ")• 

In  all,  he  was  physically  of  an  enervated  nature — 
I  mean  the  reverse  of  muscular.  His  action  was 
most  quiet  and  subdued,  even  when  most  energeti- 
cally declaiming  :  and  his  hand  .  .  .  was  as 
velvety  as  the  sheathed  paw  of  cat  or  mole,  and 
might  have  manifested  the  veriest  Sybarite  that 
ever  lived  for  luxury  alone.  — William  Jerdan 
("  Men  I  have  Known  "). 

Mr.  Harness  used  occasionally  to  visit  Coleridge 
when  the  latter  was  staying  with  Mr.  Gillman,  the 
apothecary-doctor,  at  Highgate.  The  poet  origi- 
nally went  there  to  recover  his  health,  which  he 
had  broken  down  by  over-indulgence  in  opium. 
He  placed  himself  there  under  a  sort  of  voluntary 
restraint,  and  strict  orders  were  given  by  Mr.  Gill- 
man  that  no  drugs  of  any  kind  were  to  be  allowed 
him.  Coleridge,  missing  the  stimulant  to  which  he 
had  been  long  accustomed,  pined  and  languished 
under  the  restriction  ;  he  abandoned  his  pen  and 
sank  into  utter  despondency.  One  day  a  large  roll 
of  papers  came  to  the  poet  from  the  publisher,  and 
on  Mr.  Gillman's  visiting  him  in  the  evening,  he 
found  him  an  altered  man  ;  Coleridge  was  himself 
again,  full  of  animation  and  energy,  and  busily  em- 
ployed in  writing  an  article  for  the  forthcoming 
"  Review."  The  change  was  so  sudden  and  remark- 
able that  the  doctor's  suspicions  were  aroused.  He 
III.— 7 


Indecision 

and  lack  of 

energy. 


Opium. 


98 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


0/>iuni. 


A  safe- 
guard. 


instituted  inquiries  and  found  that  a  roll  of  opium 
had,  at  the  poet's  entreaty,  been  inclosed  in  the 
packet  which  had  arrived  that  morning  from  the 
publisher.— A.  G.  L'Estrange  ("Life  of  W.  Har- 
ness "). 

The  passion  for  the  intoxicating  drug,  which  he 
shared  in  common  with  his  friend  the  famous 
"Opium-Eater,"  grew  into  so  pernicious  a  habit  that 
it  could  hardly  be  restrained  within  bounds  consist- 
ent with  rational  life.  All  that  could  be  achieved 
was  to  procure  temporary  respites  from  a  condition 
which  would  otherwise  have  been  utterly  visionary, 
and  close  upon  insanity.  .  .  .  Irregularities  inju- 
rious to  self-interest  were  ever  produced  by  these 
tempting  flights  into  dreamland.  Abstraction  took 
the  place  of  literary  employment  ;  procrastination 
marred  the  most  feasible  projects  ;  and  engage- 
ments, however  important,  gave  way  to  the  rainbow 
illusions  in  which  the  senses  could  be  tranced. — 
William  Jerdan  ("  Men  I  have  Known  "). 

Coleridge  began  the  use  of  opium  from  bodily  pain 
(rheumatism),  and  for  the  same  reason  continued  it, 
till  he  had  acquired  a  habit  too  difficult  under  his 
own  management  to  control. — James  Gillman  "  Life 
of  Coleridge  "). 

He  went  so  far  at  one  time  in  Bristol,  to  my 
knowledge,  as  to  hire  a  man  for  the  express  pur- 
pose, and  armed  with  the  power  of  resolutely  inter- 
posing between  himself  and  the  door  of  any  drug- 
gist's shop  ;  .  .  .  a  man  shrinks  from  exposing 
to  another  that  infirmity  of  will  which  he  might  else 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


99 


have  but  a  feeble  motive  for  disguising  to  himself  ; 
and  the  delegated  man,  the  external  conscience,  as 
it  were,  of  Coleridge,  though  destined — in  the  final 
resort,  if  matters  came  to  absolute  rupture,  and  to 
an  absolute  duel,  as  it  were,  between  himself  and 
his  principal — in  that  extremity  to  give  way,  yet 
might  have  long  protracted  the  struggle,  before 
coming  to  that  sort  of  digitus  vindice  nodus ;  and  in 
fact,  I  know,  upon  absolute  proof,  that,  before 
reaching  that  crisis,  the  man  showed  fight ;  and, 
faithful  to  his  trust,  and  comprehending  the  reasons 
for  it,  he  declared  that  if  he  must  yield,  he  would 
"know  the  reason  why." — Thomas  De  Quincey 
("  Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

Joseph  Cottle  gives  a  very  full  and  painful  rec- 
ord of  his  observation  of  Coleridge's  subjection  to 
opium.  It  has  not  seemed  desirable  to  reproduce 
any  portion  of  this  record  ;  for  Cottle,  in  common 
with  other  friends  of  Coleridge,  shows  an  utter  ina- 
bility to  comprehend  the  physical  aspect  of  the  case, 
and  hence  his  conclusions  are  illogical  and  unjust. 
The  simple  truth  is,  that  the  miserable  victim  of  the 
opium-habit  is  rather  a  subject  for  the  most  skil- 
ful medical  treatment,  than  for  exhortation  and  re- 
proof. 

It  was  a  remarkable  quality  in  Mr.  Coleridge's 
mind  that  edifices  excited  little  interest  in  him.  On 
his  return  from  Italy,  and  after  having  resided  for 
some  time  in  Rome,  I  remember  his  describing  to 
me  the  state  of  society;  the  characters  of  the  Pope 
and  Cardinals  ;   the  gorgeous  ceremonies,  with  the 


A  safe- 
guard. 


Opium. 


Indiffer- 
ence to  II  r- 
clutecture. 


lOO 


SAMUEL   TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Criticisni  of 
pictures. 


Hours. 


Unmusical. 


superstitions  of  the  people  ;  but  not  one  word  did 
he  utter  concerning  St.  Peter's,  the  Vatican,  or  the 
numerous  antiquities  of  the  place. — Joseph  Cottle 
("Reminiscences  of  Coleridge  and  Southey  "). 

He  knew  little  or  nothing  of  the  art  of  painting  ; 
yet  I  have  heard  him  discuss  the  merits  and  defects 
of  a  picture  of  the  poorest  class,  as  though  it  had 
sprung  from  the  inspiration  of  a  Raffaelle.  He 
would  advert  to  certain  parts,  and  surmise  that  it 
had  been  touched  upon  here  and  there  ;  would 
pronounce  upon  its  character  and  school,  its  chiar- 
oscuro, the  gradations,  the  handling,  etc.,  when  in 
fact  it  had  no  mark  or  merit  or  character  about  it. 
It  became  transfigured,  sublimated,  by  the  speaker's 
imagination,  which  far  excelled  both  the  picture  and 
its  author. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Recollections  of 
Men  of  Letters  "). 

At  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  would 
make  his  first  appearance  ;  through  the  silence  of 
the  night,  when  all  other  lights  had  long  disap- 
peared, in  the  quiet  cottage  of  Grasmere  Ids  lamp 
might  be  seen  invariably  by  the  belated  traveller, 
as  he  descended  the  long  steps  from  Dun-mail-raise  ; 
and  at  five  or  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  man 
was  going  forth  to  his  labor,  this  insulated  son  of 
reveries  was  retiring  to  bed. — Thomas  De  Ouincey 
("  Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

The  melody  of  Coleridge's  verse  had  led  me,  as  in 
the  case  of  Scott,  to  credit  him  with  the  possession 
of  the  very  soul  of  song  ;  and  yet,  either  from  defec- 
tive ear,  or  from  the  intractability  of  his  vocal  or- 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


lOI 


gans,  his  pronunciation  of  any  foreign  language 
but  his  own  was  barbarous  ;  and  his  inability  to 
follow  the  simplest  melody,  quite  ludicrous.  The 
German  tongue  he  knew  au  fond.  He  had  learned 
it  grammatically,  critically,  and  scientifically  at  Got- 
tingen ;  yet  so  unintelligible  was  he  when  he  tried 
to  speak  it,  that  I  heard  Schlegel  say  to  him  one 
evening,  "  Mein  lieber  Herr,  would  you  speak  Eng- 
lish ?  I  understand  it  ;  but  your  German  I  cannot 
follow."  Whether  he  had  ever  been  before  enlight- 
ened on  his  malpronunciation  of  German,  I  know 
not ;  but  he  was  quite  conscious  that  his  pronun- 
ciation of  French  was  execrable,  for  I  heard  him 
avow  as  much. — Julian  C.  Young  ("  Memoirs  of  C. 
M.  Young"). 

He  was  a  man  of  violent  prejudices,  and  had  con- 
ceived an  insuperable  aversion  for  the  grande  nation, 
of  which  he  was  not  slow  to  boast.  "  I  hate,"  he 
would  say,  "  the  hoUowness  of  French  principles  ; 
I  hate  the  republicanism  of  French  politics  ;  I  hate 
the  hostility  of  the  French  people  to  revealed  relig- 
ion ;  I  hate  the  artificiality  of  French  cooking  ;  I 
hate  the  acidity  of  French  wines  ;  I  hate  the  flimsi- 
ness  of  the  French  language  : — my  very  organs  of 
speech  are  so  anti-Gallican  that  they  refuse  to  pro- 
nounce intelligibly  their  insipid  tongue." — Julian 
C.  Young  ("  Memoir  of  C.  M.  Young  "). 

Coleridge  often  spoiled  a  book  ;  but  in  the  course 
of  doing  this,  he  enriched  that  book  with  so  many 
and  so  valuable  notes,  tossing  about  him,  with  such 
lavish  profusion,  from  such  a  cornucopia  of  discur- 


Unmusical. 
—B,uif>ro- 
nuuciation 
of  foreign 
tofigues. 


Prej  uiUces, 


Treatment 
of  books. 


102 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Treatment 
o/books. 


Humor. 


sive  reading,  and  such  a  fusing  intellect,  commen- 
taries, so  many-angled  and  so  many-colored,  thrrt:  I 
have  envied  many  a  man  whose  luck  has  placed  him 
in  the  way  of  such  injuries. — Thomas  De  Quincey 
("  Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

Reader,  if  haply  thou  art  blessed  with  a  moderate 
collection,  be  shy  of  showing  it ;  or  if  thy  heart  over- 
floweth  to  lend  them,  lend  thy  books  ;  but  let  it  be 
to  such  a  one  as  S.  T.  C. — he  will  return  them  (gen- 
erally anticipating  the  time  appointed)  with  usury  ; 
enriched  with  annotations,  tripling  their  value.  I 
have  had  experience.  Many  are  these  precious  MSS. 
of  his — (in  matter  oftentimes,  and  almost  in  qi/an- 
tity  not  unfrequently,  vying  with  the  originals) — in 
no  very  clerkly  hand — legible  in  my  Daniel  ;  in  old 
Burton  ;  in  Sir  Thomas  Browne  ;  and  those  abstruser 
cogitations  of  the  Greville,  now,  alas  !  wandering 
in  Pagan  lands. — I  counsel  thee,  shut  not  thy  heart, 
nor  thy  library,  against  S.  T.  C. — Charles  Lamb 
("  Essay  on  the  Two  Races  of  Men  ").' 

I  have  not  yet  noticed  a  vein  of  sportive  humor 
which  he  occasionally  displayed,  and  which  was  ex- 
ceedingly amusing  when  it  accompanied  the  relation 
of  any  whimsical  anecdote.  The  lustre  of  his  large 
eye,  the  gravity  of  his  look,  the  silvery  tone  of  his 
voice,  and  the  slightly  drawling  manner  in  the  deliv- 
ery of  his  narrative,  gave  a  peculiar  significance  to 
these  little  stories,  of  which  no  idea  can  be  formed 
from  the  matter,  divorced  from  the  accessories  of 

'  Lanil)  (Charles).  Elia.  Essays  which  have  apj^earcd  under 
that  Signature  in  tlie  London  Magazine.      l2mo.   London,  1823. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


103 


person,    emphasis,    and    playful    action. — William 
Jerdan  ("  Men  I  have  Known  "), 

Dr.  Clement  Carlyon,  in  his  "  Early  Years  and 
Late  Reflections,"  '  says  that  Coleridge  "was  never 
above  a  pun  when  it  crossed  his  mind  opportunely." 
Dr.  C.  gives  some  specimens  of  the  Coleridgean 
puns,  of  a  peculiarly  atrocious  character. 

Not  many  months  before  his  death,  when  alluding 
to  his  general  health,  he  told  me  that  he  never  in 
his  life  knew  the  sensation  of  headache  ;  adding,  in 
his  own  peculiarly  vivid  manner  of  illustration,  that 
he  had  no  more  internal  consciousness  of  possessing 
a  head  than  he  had  of  having  an  eye. — Mary  Cowden 
Clarke  ("  Recollections  of  Writers  "). 

Marked  gifts  are  often  attended  by  marked  de- 
ficiencies even  in  the  intellect :  those  best  acquainted 
with  my  Father  are  well  aware  that  there  was  in 
him  a  special  intellectual  flaw  ;  Archdeacon  Hare 
has  said  that  his  memory  was  *'  notoriously  irreten- 
tive ;  "  and  it  is  true  that,  on  a  certain  class  of 
subjects,  it  was  extraordinarily  confused  and  inac- 
curate ;  matter  of  fact,  as  such,  laid  no  hold  upon 
his  mind  ;  of  all  he  heard  and  saw,  he  readily  caught 
and  well  retained  the  spirit,  but  the  letter  escaped 
him  ;  he  seemed  incapable  of  paying  tiie  due  re- 
gard to  it. — Sara  Coleridge  (Introduction  to  "  Bio- 
graphia  Literaria  "). 


'  Carlyon  (Clement,  M.D.).    Early  Years  and  Late  Reflections. 
3  vols.,  i2mo.     London,  1856. 


Puns. 


Freedom 

frcKii 
headache. 


Memory. 


104 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Memory. 


Unfulfilled 
Jilans. 


The  Rev.  Robert  Tennant  .  .  .  had  a  great 
reverence  and  admiration  for  Mr.  Coleridge,  and 
used  occasionally  to  call  upon  him.  During  one 
of  these  visits,  Mr.  C.  spoke  of  a  book  ...  in 
which  there  were  some  valuable  remarks  bearing 
upon  the  subject  of  their  conversation.  Mr.  Ten- 
nant immediately  purchased  the  book  upon  this 
recommendation,  but  on  reading  it  was  surprised 
to  find  no  such  passages  as  Mr.  C.  had  referred  to. 
Some  time  after  he  saw  the  same  book  at  the  house 
of  a  friend,  and  mentioned  the  circumstance  to  him  ; 
upon  which  his  friend  directed  him  to  the  margin 
of  the  volume  before  him,  and  there  he  found  the 
very  remarks  in  Mr.  C.'s  own  writing,  which  he  had 
written  in  as  marginalia,  and  forgotten  that  they 
were  his  own  and  not  the  author's.' — Sara  Coleridge 
(Introduction  to  "  Biographia  Literaria  "). 

His  mind  was  in  a  singular  degree  distinguished 
for  the  habit  of  projecting.  New  projects  and  plans 
.  .  .  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession, 
and  while  the  vividness  of  the  impression  lasted, 
the  very  completion  could  scarcely  have  afforded 
more  satisfaction  than  the  vague  design.  To  pro- 
ject, with  him  was  commonly  sufficient.  ...  I 
remember  him  once  to  have  read  to  me,  from  his 
pocket-book,  a  list  of  eighteen  different  works  which 
he  had  resolved  to  write,  and  several  of  them  in 
quarto,  not  one  of  which  he  ever  effected.  .  .  . 
Another  prominent  feature  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  mind 
was  procrastination.     It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 

'  Sec  p.  146. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERLDGE. 


105 


he  ever  made  a  promise  or  entered  on  an  engage- 
ment without  intending  to  fulfil  it,  but  none  who 
knew  him  could  deny  that  he  wanted  much  of  that 
steady,  persevering  determination  which  is  the  pre- 
cursor of  success. — Joseph  Cottle  ("  Reminiscences 
of  Coleridge  and  Southey  "). 

Nobody  who  knew  him  ever  thought  of  depend- 
ing on  any  appointment  he  might  make  ;  spite  of 
his  uniformly  honorable  intentions,  nobody  attached 
any  weight  to  his  assurances  ///  re  futura  :  those  who 
asked  him  to  dinner  or  any  other  party,  as  a  matter 
of  course  sent  a  carriage  for  him,  and  went  person- 
ally or  by  'proxy  to  fetch  him  ;  and,  as  to  letters,  un- 
less the  address  was  in  some  female  hand  that  com- 
manded his  affectionate  esteem,  he  tossed  them  all 
into  one  general  dead-letter  bureau,  and  rarely,  I  be- 
lieve, opened  them  at  all. — Thomas  De  Quincey 
("  Literary  Reminiscences"). 

I  remember  once  meeting  him  in  Paternoster  Row  ; 
he  was  inquiring  his  way  to  Bread  Street,  Cheapside, 
and,  of  course,  I  endeavored  to  explain  to  him  that 
if  he  walked  on  about  two  hundred  yards,  and  took 
the  fourth  turning  to  the  right,  it  would  be  the 
street  he  wanted.  I  noted  his  expression,  so  vague 
and  unenlightened,  that  I  could  not  help  expressing 
my  surprise  as  I  looked  earnestly  at  his  forehead, 
and  saw  the  organ  of  ''locality  "  unusually  promi- 
nent above  the  eyebrows.  He  took  my  meaning, 
laughed,  and  said,  "  I  see  what  you  are  looking  at  : 
why,  at  school  my  head  was  beaten  into  a  mass  of 
bumps,  because  I  could  not  point  out   Paris  in  a 


UnfulJUled 
Jiians. 


Lack  of 
punctual- 
ity. 


A  delustTC 
^^  Bump  0/ 
Locality." 


io6 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


Ju  old  age. 


Kelighus 
vieiits. 


map  of  France." — Samuel  C.  Hall("  Book  of  Mem- 
ories"). 

Coleridge  was  fat,  and  began  to  lament,  in  very 
delightful  verses,  that  he  was  getting  infirm.    There 
was  no  old  age  in  his  verses.     I  heard  him  one  day, 
under  the   Grove  at   Highgate,   repeat   one  of  his 
melodious  lamentations,  as  he  walked  up  and  down, 
his  voice  undulating  in  a  stream  of  music,  and  his 
regrets  of  youth  sparkling  with  visions  ever  young. 
.     .     .     It  is  no  secret  that  Coleridge  lived  in  the 
Grove  at  Highgate  with  a  friendly  family,'  who  had 
sense  and  kindness  enough  to  know  that  they  did 
themselves  honor  by  looking  after  the  comforts  of 
such  a  man.     His  room  looked  upon   a  delicious 
prospect  of  wood  and  meadow,  with  colored  gar- 
dens under  the  window,  like  an  embroidery  to  the 
mantle.     I  thought,  when  I  first  saw  it,  that  he  had 
taken  up  his  dwelling-place  like  an  abbot.     Here 
he  cultivated  his  flowers,  and  had  a  set  of  birds  for 
his  pensioners,   who  came  to  breakfast  with  him. 
lie  might  have  been  seen  taking  his  daily  stroll  up 
and  down,  with  his  black  coat  and  white  locks,  and 
a  book  in  his  hand,  and  was  a  great  acquaintance  of 
the  little  children.     His  main  occupation,  I  believe, 
was  reading. — Leigh  Hunt  ("  Autobiography  "), 

In  his  youth,  Coleridge  was  for  some  time  a 
Unitarian  preacher.  Later  in  life  he  joined  the 
Established  Church.  His  mature  opinions  may  be 
gathered  from  the  following  extract  from  a  letter, 
which  he  wrote  to  his  godson,  a  few  days  before 


'  The  Gillnians. 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE. 


107 


his  own  death  :  "  I  have  known  what  the  enjoy- 
ments and  advantages  of  tliis  life  are,  and  what  the 
more  refined  pleasures  which  learning  and  intellec- 
tual power  can  bestow  ;  and  with  all  the  experience 
which  more  than  threescore  years  can  give,  I  now, 
on  the  eve  of  my  departure,  declare  to  you  (and 
earnestly  pray  that  you  may  hereafter  live  and  act 
on  the  conviction),  that  health  is  a  great  blessing — 
competence  obtained  by  honorable  industry  is  a 
great  blessing— and  a  great  blessing  it  is  to  have 
kind,  faithful,  honest  relatives  ;  but  that  the  great- 
est of  all  blessings,  as  it  is  the  most  ennobling  of 
all  privileges,  is  to  be,  indeed,  a  Christian.  But  I 
have  been  likewise,  through  a  large  portion  of  my 
later  life,  a  sufferer,  sorely  afflicted  with  bodily 
pains,  languors,  and  bodily  infirmities,  and  for  the 
last  three  or  four  years  have,  with  few  and  brief  in- 
tervals, been  confined  to  a  sick  room,  and  at  this 
moment,  in  great  weakness  and  heaviness,  write 
from  a  sick-bed,  hopeless  of  a  recovery  ;  and  I  thus, 
on  the  very  brink  of  the  grave,  solemnly  bear  wit- 
ness to  you  that  the  Almighty  Redeemer,  most 
gracious  in  His  promises  to  them  that  truly  seek 
Him,  is  faithful  to  perform  what  He  hath  promised, 
and  hath  preserved,  under  all  my  pains  and  infirmi- 
ties, the  inv/ard  peace  that  passeth  all  understand- 
ing, with  the  supporting  assurance  of  a  reconciled 
God,  who  will  not  withdraw  His  Spirit  from  me  in 
the  conflict,  and  in  His  own  time  will  deliver  me 
from  the  evil  one." 


Religious 
vieius. 


Caroline  Fox,  in  her  "Memories of  Old  Friends," 
tells  of   Mary    Coleridge's    account    of    Coleridge  : 


io8 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


A  pleasant 
glimjtse. 


Sur/iassing 
expectation. 


The  last 

tril'uti'  (if  a 

/riend. 


"When  in  the  midst  of  the  highest  talk  he  would 
turn  to  her,  smoothe  her  hair,  look  into  her  face, 
and  say, — 'God  bless  you,  my  pretty  child,  my 
pretty  Mary!'  He  was  most  tender  and  affection- 
ate, and  always  treated  her  as  if  she  were  six  years 
old." 

Of  all  celebrated  persons  I  ever  saw,  Coleridge 
alone  surpassed  the  expectation  created  by  his 
writings  ;  for  he  not  only  was,  but  appeared  to  be, 
greater  than  the  noblest  things  he  had  written. — 
Thomas  N.  Talfourd  ("Final  Memorials  of  Charles 
Lamb"). 

A  few  months  after  the  death  of  Coleridge,  and 
only  a  few  weeks  before  his  own  death,  Lamb  wrote 
these  memorable  words  : ' 

"  When  I  heard  of  the  death  of  Coleridge,  it  was 
without  grief.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  long  had 
been  on  the  confines  of  the  next  world — that  he 
had  a  hunger  for  eternity.  I  grieved  then  that  I 
could  not  grieve.  But  since,  I  feel  how  great  a  part 
he  was  of  me.  His  great  and  dear  spirit  haunts 
me.  I  cannot  think  a  thought,  I  cannot  make  a 
criticism  on  men  or  books,  without  an  ineffectual 
turning  and  reference  to  him.  He  was  the  proof 
and  touchstone  of  all  my  cogitations.  He  was  a 
Grecian  (or  in  the  first  form)  at  Christ's  Hospital, 

^  First  published  by  John  Forstcr,  in  an  article  upon  Lamb,  in 
the  New  Monthly  Magazine,  1835.  Republished  in  Mr.  Babson's 
Eliana.  (Babson  (J.  E.).  Eliana  :  Being  the  hitherto  Uncol- 
lected Writings  of  Charles  Lamb.  Svo.  New  York  and  Boston, 
1864.) 


SAMUEL  TAYLOR   COLERIDGE. 


109 


where  I  was  deputy  Grecian  ;  and  the  same  subor- 
dination and  deference  to  him  I  have  preserved 
througli  a  life-long  acquaintance.  Great  in  his 
writings,  he  was  greatest  in  his  conversation.  In 
him  was  disproved  that  old  maxim,  that  we  should 
allow  every  one  his  share  of  talk.  He  would  talk 
from  morn  to  dewy  eve,  nor  cease  till  far  midnight ; 
yet  who  ever  would  interrupt  him — who  would 
obstruct  that  continuous  flow  of  converse,  fetched 
from  Helicon  or  Zion  ?  He  had  the  tact  of  mak- 
ing the  unintelligible  seem  plain.  Many  who  read 
the  abstruser  parts  of  his  '  Friend  '  would  complain 
that  his  works  did  not  answer  to  his  spoken  wisdom. 
They  were  identical.  But  he  had  a  tone  in  oral  de- 
livery, which  seemed  to  convey  sense  to  those  who 
were  otherwise  imperfect  recipients.  He  was  my 
fifty  years'  old  friend  without  a  dissension.  Never 
saw  I  his  likeness,  nor  probably  the  world  can  see 
again.  I  seem  to  love  the  house  he  died  at  more 
passionately  than  when  he  lived.  I  love  the  faithful 
Gillmans  more  than  while  they  exercised  their  virtues 
toward  him  living.  What  was  his  mansion  is  conse- 
crated to  me  a  chapel. 


The  Inst 

tribute  of  a. 

friend. 


Edmondton,  November,  21,  1834." 


CHARLES  LAMB. 

1775-1834- 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 


OF  Charles  Lamb  it  may  be  said,  more  truly 
than  of  almost  any  other  man,  that  his  own 
works  are  his  best  biography.  Familiarity  with  his 
writings  is  indispensable  to  any  adequate  knowledge 
of  his  character.  No  man  was  ever  more  truly  au- 
tobiographic. He  constantly  portrays  himself,  al- 
though seldom  with  deliberate  intention.  It  would 
not  be  quite  practicable  to  reprint  the  "  Essays  of 
Elia "  in  this  volume  ;  but,  fortunately,  there  re- 
main other  and  more  available  sources  of  knowl- 
edge. 

The  two  authors  of  chief  authority  are  Talfourd 
and  Procter   ("Barry  Cornwall"),    both   of  whom 
wrote  from  personal  knowledge.     There  is  a  pleas- 
ant, discursive   book,  by  Percy  Fitzgerald,  entitled 
"  Charles   Lamb  ;  his  Friends,  his  Haunts,  and  his 
Books,"  and  there  is  a  valuable,  although  carelessly 
edited  volume,  not  free  from  serious  inaccuracies — 
"  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb,"  by  W.  C.  Hazlitt.     The 
latest  work  is  Mr.  Ainger's  well-considered  biogra- 
phy in  the  "  English  Men  of  Letters  "  series.      The 
ideal  life  of  Lamb  is  yet  to  be  written  ;  but  it  will 
not  be  the  work  of  any  ordinary  book-maker.      It  is 
reserved  for  some  man  of  high  genius  to  make  the 
IIL— 8 


114  CHARLES  LAMB. 


most  attractive  biography  in  the  language  ;  and  he 
may  well  be  deemed  fortunate,  who  shall  thus  link 
his  name  with  that  of  the  best  beloved  of  English 
authors. 

Among  those  who  have  written  of  him,  a  remark- 
able unanimity  of  sentiment  prevails.  Harsh  critics 
grow  tender,  and  cynics '  speak  gently,  when  they 
tell  of  Charles  Lamb.  Some  of  the  most  valuable 
of  the  many  contemporary  notices  of  him  are  to  be 
found  in  the  following  works  :  P.  G.  Patmore's  "  My 
Friends  and  Acquaintance  ; "  Charles  and  Mary 
Cowden  Clarke's  "  Recollections  of  Writers  ; "  Haz- 
litt's  "  Spirit  of  the  Age,"  and  various  essays  ;  Leigh 
Hunt's  ''Autobiography  ;"  De  Quincey's  ''Biograph- 
ical Essays,"  and  "  Literary  Reminiscences  ;"  C.  R. 
Leslie's  "Autobiographical  Recollections;"  and 
Hood's  "  Literary  Reminiscences." 

Many  years  ago  Walter  Savage  Landor  wrote 
these  lines  ;  to-day  they  are  as  fresh  as  ever  : 

"  Once,  and  once  only  have  I  seen  thy  face, 
Elia  !  onpe  only  has  thy  tripping  tongue 
Run  o'er  my  breast,  yet  never  has  been  left 
Impression  on  it  stronger  or  more  sweet. 
Cordial  old  man  !  what  youth  was  in  thy  years, 
What  wisdom  in  thy  levity,  what  truth 
In  every  utterance  of  that  purest  soul ! 
Few  are  the  spirits  of  the  glorified 
I'd  spring  to  earlier  at  the  gate  of  Heaven." 

■ — - 

'  Thomas  Carlyle  furnishes  the  one  exception. 


1775 


CHARLES  LAMB.  Il5 


LEADING  EVENTS   OF  LAMB'S  LIFE. 


Born,  February  loth,  in  London. 


1782. — (Aged  7.)     At  Christ's  Hospital  School. 

1789. — (Aged  14.)  Leaves  Christ's  Hospital,  and  enters  the  service 
of  the  South  Sea  House. 

1792. — (Aged  17.)  Enters  the  service  of  the  East  India  Company. 

1796. — (Aged  21.)  Mary  Lamb  becomes  insane. 

1797. — (Aged  22.)  Publishes  a  volume  of  poems,  the  joint  produc- 
tion of  Coleridge,  Lloyd,  and  himself. 

1798. — (Aged  23.)  Publishes  "Rosamond  Gray." 

1802. — (Aged  27.)  Publishes  "John  VVoodvil." 

1806. — (Aged  31.)   "  Mr.  H ,"  a  farce,  performed  at  Drury 

Lane  Theatre. 

1807. — (Aged  32.)  Publishes  "Tales  from  Shakespeare." 

1808. — (Aged  33.)  Publishes  "  Specimens  of  Dramatic  Authors." 

1818. — (Aged  43.)  Publishes  two  volumes  of  his  writings  in  prose 
and  verse. 

1820. — (Aged  45.)  Contributes  to  the  London  Magazine, 

1823. — (Aged  48.)  Publishes  "  Essays  of  Elia," 

1825. — (Aged  50.)  Retires  from  the  service  of  the  East  India 
Company,  with  a  pension  of  four  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  per  annum. 

1833.— (Aged  58.)  Publishes  "Last  Essays  of  Elia." 

1834. — (Aged  59  years  and  10  months.)  Dies,  December  27th. 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


ONE  of  his  school-fellows,  of  whose  genial  qual- 
ities he  has  made  affectionate  mention  in  his 
"  Recollections  of  Christ's  Hospital,"  Charles  V.  Le 
Grice,  .  .  .  has  supplied  me  with  some  particu- 
lars of  his  school-days,  for  which  friends  of  a  later 
date  will  be  grateful.  "  Lamb,"  says  Mr.  Le  Grice, 
"  was  an  amiable,  gentle  boy,  very  sensible  and  keen- 
ly observing,  indulged  by  his  school-fellows  and  by 
his  master  on  account  of  his  infirmity  of  speech. 
His  countenance  was  mild  ;  his  complexion  clear 
brown,  with  an  expression  which  might  lead  you  to 
think  that  he  was  of  Jewish  descent.  His  eyes  were 
not  each  of  the  same  color,  one  was  hazel,  the  other 
had  specks  of  gray  in  the  iris,  mingled  as  we  see  red 
spots  in  the  blood-stone.  His  step  was  plantigrade, 
which  made  his  walk  slow  and  peculiar,  adding  to 
the  staid  appearance  of  his  figure.  I  never  heard 
his  name  mentioned  without  the  addition  of  Charles, 
although,  as  there  was  no  other  boy  of  the  name  of 
Lamb,  the  addition  was  unnecessary  ;  but  there  w%as 
an  implied  kindness  in  it,  and  it  was  a  proof  that  his 
gentle  manners  excited  that  kindness.  His  delicate 
frame  and  his  difficulty  of  utterance,  which  was  in- 
creased by  agitation,  unfitted  liim  for  joining  in  any 


Sclwol- 
ditys. 


ii8 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Personal 
ap/'earance. 


boisterous  sport." — Thomas  N.  Talfourd    ("  Final 
Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb  "). 

Mr.  Lamb's  personal  appearance  was  remarkable. 
It  quite  realized  the  expectations  of  those  who  think 
that  an  author  and  a  wit  should  have  a  distinct  air, 
a  separate  costume,  a  particular  cloth,  something 
positive  and  singular  about  him.  Such  unquestion- 
ably had  Mr.  Lamb.  Once  he  rejoiced  in  snuff-color, 
but  latterly  his  costume  was  inveterately  black — 
with  gaiters  which  seemed  longing  for  something 
more  substantial  to  close  in.  His  legs  Avere  remark- 
ably slight  ;  so  indeed  was  his  whole  body,  which 
was  of  short  stature,  but  surmounted  by  a  head  of 
amazing  fineness.  His  face  was  deeply  marked  and 
full  of  noble  lines — traces  of  sensibility,  imagina- 
tion, suffering,  and  much  thought.  His  wit  was  in 
his  eye,  luminous,  quick,  and  restless.  The  smile 
that  played  about  his  mouth  was  ever  cordial  and 
good-humored  ;  and  the  most  cordial  and  delightful 
of  its  smiles  were  those  with  which  he  accompanied 
his  affectionate  talk  with  his  sister,  or  his  jokes 
against  her. — John  Forster  {New  Monthly  Magazine^ 

1835)- 

Charles  Lamb  was  about  forty  years  of  age  when 
I  first  saw  him  ;  and  I  knew  him  intimately  for  the 
greater  part  of  twenty  years.  Small  and  spare  in 
person,  and  with  small  legs  ("immaterial  legs" 
Hood  called  them),  he  had  a  dark  complexion,  dark, 
curling  hair,  almost  black,  and  a  grave  look,  lighten- 
ing up  occasionally,  and  capable  of  sudden  merri- 
ment.   His  laugh  was  seldom  excited  by  jokes  merely 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


119 


ludicrous  ;  it  was  never  spiteful ;  and  his  quiet  smile 
was  sometimes  inexpressibly  sweet ;  perhaps  it  had  a 
touch  of  sadness  in  it.  His  mouth  was  well-shaped  ; 
his  lip  tremulous  with  expression  ;  his  brown  eyes 
were  quick,  restless,  and  glittering,  and  he  had  a 
grand  head,  full  of  thought. — Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Charles  Lamb  ;  a  Memoir  "). 

Very  often  Charles  Lamb  was  one  of  the  party, 
.  .  .  with  his  gentle,  sweet,  yet  melancholy  coun- 
tenance ;  for  I  can  recall  it  only  as  bearing  the  stamp 
of  mournfulness,  rather  than  of  mirth. — S.  C.  Hall 
("Retrospect  of  a  Long  Life  ").' 

A  light  frame,  so  fragile  that  it  seemed  as  if  a 
breath  would  overthrow  it,  clad  in  clerk-like  black, 
was  surmounted  by  a  head  of  form  and  expression  the 
most  noble  and  sweet.  His  black  hair  curled  crisply 
about  an  expanded  forehead  ;  his  eyes,  softly  brown, 
twinkled  with  varying  expression,  though  the  prev- 
alent feeling  was  sad  ;  and  the  nose  slightly  curved, 
and  delicately  carved  at  the  nostril,  with  the  lower 
outline  of  the  face  regularly  oval,  completed  a  head 
which  was  finely  placed  on  the  shoulders,  and  gave 
importance,  and  even  dignity,  to  a  diminutive  and 
shadowy  stem.  Who  shall  describe  his  countenance 
— catch  its  quivering  sweetness — and  fix  it  forever  in 
words  ?  There  are  none  alas !  to  answer  the  vain 
desire  of  friendship.  Deep  thought,  striving  with 
humor  ;  the  lines  of  suffering  wreathed  into  cordial 
mirth  ;  and  a  smile  of  painful  sweetness,  present  an 


'  Hall  (Samuel  Carter), 
don  and  New  York,  18S3. 


Retrospect  of  a  Long  Life.    8vo.    Lon- 


Persoval 
appearance. 


I20 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Personal 
appearance. 


image  to  the  mind  it  can  as  little  describe  as  lose. — 
Thomas  N.  Talfourd  ("  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb  "). 

The  first  time  I  saw  and  spoke  with  Charles  Lamb 
was  where  he  was  most  at  home — in  Fleet  Street, 
He  was  of  diminutive  and  even  ungraceful  appear- 
ance, thin  and  wiry,  clumsily  clad,  and  with  a  shuf- 
fling gait,  more  than  awkward  ;  though  covered,  it 
was  easy  to  perceive  that  the  head  was  of  no  com- 
mon order,  for  the  hat  fell  back  as  if  it  fitted  better 
there  than  over  a  large  intellectual  forehead,  which 
overhung  a  countenance  somewhat  expressive  of 
anxiety  and  even  pain.  His  wit  was  in  his  eye — 
luminous,  quick,  and  restless  ;  and  the  smile  that 
played  about  his  mouth  was  cordial  and  good-hu- 
mored.— Samuel  C.  Hall  ("  Book  of  Memories  "). 


I  was  sitting  one  morning  beside  our  editor,  busily 
correcting  proofs,  when  a  visitor  was  announced, 
whose  name,  grumbled  by  a  low  ventriloquial  voice, 
like  Tom  Pipes  calling  down  the  hold  through  the 
hatchway,  did  not  resound  distinctly  on  my  tym- 
panum. However,  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  a 
stranger, — a  figure  remarkable  at  a  glance,  with  a 
fine  head,  on  a  small  spare  body,  supported  by  two 
almost  immaterial  legs.  He  was  clothed  in  sables, 
of  a  by-gone  fashion,  but  there  was  something  want- 
ing, or  something  present  about  him,  that  certified 
he  was  neither  a  divine,  nor  a  physician,  nor  a 
school-master  :  from  a  certain  neatness  and  sobriety 
in  his  dress,  coupled  with  his  sedate  bearing,  he 
might  have  been  taken,  but  that  such  a  costume 
would  be  anomalous,  for  a  Quaker  in  black.     He 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


121 


Personal 
appearance. 


looked  still  more  (what  he  really  was)  a  literary 
MoSern  Antique,  a  New  Old  Author,  a  living  Ana- 
chronism, contemporary  at  once  with  Burton  the 
Elder  and  Colman  the  Younger.  Meanwhile  he 
advanced  with  rather  a  peculiar  gait,  his  walk  was 
plantigrade,  and  with  a  cheerful  "  How  d'ye,"  and 
one  of  the  blandest,  sweetest  smiles,  that  ever 
brightened  a  manly  countenance,  held  out  two  fin- 
gers to  the  editor. 

The  two  gentlemen  in  black  soon  fell  into  dis- 
course ;  and  whilst  they  conferred,  the  Lavater  prin- 
ciple within  me  set  to  work  upon  the  interesting 
specimen  thus  presented  to  its  speculations.  It  was 
a  striking  intellectual  face,  full  of  wiry  lines,  phys- 
iognomical quips  and  cranks,  that  gave  it  great 
character.  There  was  much  earnestness  about  the 
brows,  and  a  great  deal  of  speculation  in  the  eyes, 
which  were  brown  and  bright,  and  "quick  in  turn- 
ing ; "  the  nose,  a  decided  one,  though  of  no  estab- 
lished order  ;  and  there  was  a  handsome  smartness 
about  the  mouth.  Altogether,  it  was  no  common 
face — none  of  those  willoiv-pattern  ones,  which  Nat- 
ure turns  out  by  thousands  at  her  potteries  ; — but 
more  like  a  chance  specimen  of  the  Chinese  ware, 
one  to  the  set — unique,  quaint.  No  one  who  had 
once  seen  it  could  pretend  not  to  know  it  again.  It 
was  no  face  to  lend  its  countenance  to  any  confusion 
of  persons  in  a  Comedy  of  Errors.  You  might  have 
sworn  to  it  piecemeal — a  separate  affidavit  for  every 
feature. — Thomas  Hood  ("Literary  Reminiscences"). 


I  do  not  know  whether  Lamb  had  any  oriental 
blood  in  his  veins,  but  certainly  the  most  marked 


122 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Personal 
appearance. 


complexional  characteristic  of  his  head  was  "x  Jewish 
look,  which  pervaded  every  portion  of  it,  even  to 
the  sallow  and  uniform'  complexion,  and  the  black 
and  crispy  hair  standing  off  loosely  from  the  head, 
as  if  every  single  hair  was  independent  of  tlie  rest. 
The  nose,  too,  was  large  and  slightly  hooked,  and 
the  chin  rounded  and  elevated  to  correspond.  There 
was  altogether  a  Rabbinical  look  about  Lamb's  head, 
which  was  at  once  striking  and  impressive. 

Thus  much  of  form  chiefly.  In  point  of  intellect- 
ual character  and  expression,  a  finer  face  was  never 
seen,  nor  one  more  fully,  however  vaguely,  corre- 
sponding with  the  mind  whose  features  it  inter- 
preted. There  was  the  gravity  usually  engendered 
by  a  life  passed  in  book-learning,  Avithout  the 
slightest  tinge  of  that  assumption  and  affectation 
which  almost  always  attend  the  gravity  so  engen- 
dered ;  the  intensity  and  elevation  of  general  ex- 
pression that  mark  high  genius,  without  any  of  its 
pretension  and  its  oddity  :  the  sadness  waiting  on 
fruitless  thoughts  and  baffled  aspirations,  but  no 
evidences  of  that  spirit  of  scorning  and  contempt 
which  these  are  apt  to  engender.  Above  all,  there 
was  a  prevading  sweetness  and  gentleness  which 
went  straight  to  the  heart  of  every  one  who  looked 
on  it  ;  and  not  the  less  so,  perliaps,  that  it  bore 
about  it  an  air,  a  something,  seeming  to  tell  that  it 
was  not  put  on — for  nothmg  would  be  more  unjust 
than  to  tax  Lamb  with  assuming  anything,  even  a 
virtue,  which  he  did  not  possess — but  presei^ved  and 
persevered  in,  spite  of  opposing  and  contradictory 
feelings  within,  that  struggled  in  vain  for  mastery. 
It  was  a  thing  to  remind  you  of  that  painful  smile 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


123 


which  bodily  disease  and  agony  will  sometimes  put 
on,  to  conceal  their  sufferings  from  the  observation 
of  those  they  love. 

His  head  might  have  belonged  to  a  full-sized 
person,  but  it  was  set  upon  a  figure  so  petite  that 
it  took  an  appearance  of  inappropriate  largeness  by 
comparison.  This  was  the  only  strikkig  peculiarity 
in  the  ensemble  of  his  figure  ;  in  other  respects  it 
was  pleasing  and  well  formed,  but  so  slight  and 
delicate  as  to  bear  the  appearance  of  extreme  spare- 
ness,  as  if  of  a  man  air-fed,  instead  of  one  rejoicing 
in  a  proverbial  predilection  for  '*  roast  pig."  The 
only  defect  of  the  figure  was  that  the  legs  were  too 
slight  even  for  the  slight  body. — Peter  G.  Patmore 
("My  Friends  and  Acquaintance").' 

He  was  the  leanest  of  mankind,  tiny  black 
breeches  buttoned  to  the  knee-cap,  and  no  further, 
surmounting  spindle-legs,  also  in  black,  face  and 
head  fineish,  black,  bony,  lean,  and  of  a  Jew  type 
rather ;  in  the  eyes  a  kind  of  smoky  brightness 
or  confused  sharpness  ;  spoke  with  a  stutter  ;  in 
walking  tottered  and  shuffled. — Thomas  Carlyle 
("  Reminiscences  "). 

Charles  Lamb  had  three  striking  personal  pecu- 
liarities ;  his  eyes  were  of  different  colors,  one  being 
grayish  blue,  the  other  brownish  hazel ;  his  hair  was 
thick,  retaining  its  abundance  and  its  dark-brown 
hue  Avith  scarcely  a  single  gray  hair  among  it  until 
even  the  latest  period  of  his  life  ;  and  he   had   a 


Personal 
appearunce. 


'  Patmore   (Peter    George). 
3  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1854. 


My    Friends   and    Acquaintance. 


124 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


"  In  his 

habit,  as  he 
lived." 


Costume — 

various 

cliaracter- 

istics. 


smile    of   singular   sweetness    and   beauty. — Mary 
CowDEN  Clarke  ("  Recollections  of  Writers  "). 

Persons  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  traversing 
Covent  Garden  at  that  time  (seven  and  forty  years 
ago)  might,  by  extending  .their  walk  a  few  yards 
into  Russell  Street,  have  noted  a  small,  spare  man, 
clothed  in  black,  who  went  out  every  morning  and 
returned  every  afternoon,  as  regularly  as  the  hands 
of  the  clock  moved  toward  certain  hours.  You 
could  not  mistake  him.  He  was  somewhat  stiff  in 
his  manner,  and  almost  clerical  in  dress  ;  which  in- 
dicated much  wear.  He  had  a  long,  melancholy 
face,  with  keen,  penetrating  eyes  ;  and  he  walked, 
with  a  short,  resolute  step,  city-wards.  He  looked 
no  one  in  the  face  for  more  than  a  moment,  yet 
contrived  to  see  everything  as  he  went  on.  No 
one  who  ever  studied  the  human  features  could 
pass  him  by  without  recollecting  his  countenance  : 
it  was  full  of  sensibility,  and  it  came  upon  you  like 
a  new  thought,  which  you  could  not  help  dwelling 
upon  afterwards  ;  it  gave  rise  to  meditation,  and 
did  you  good.  This  small,  half-clerical  man  was — 
Charles  Lamb. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles 
Lamb  ;  a  Memoir"). 

Lamb  .  ,  .  was  always  dressed  in  black.  "  I 
take  it,"  he  says,  "  to  be  the  proper  costume  of  an 
author."  When  this  was  once  objected  to,  at  a 
wedding,  he  pleaded  the  raven's  apology  in  the 
fable,  that  "  he  had  no  other."  His  clothes  were 
entirely  black  ;  and  he  wore  long  black  gaiters,  up 
to  the  knees.  His  head  was  bent  a  little  forward, 
like  one  who  had  been  reading  ;  and,  if  not  standing 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


125 


or  walking,  he  generally  had  in  his  hand  an  old 
book,  a  pinch  of  snuff,  or,  later  in  the  evening,  a 
pipe.  He  stammered  a  little,  pleasantly,  just 
enough  to  prevent  his  making  speeches;  just 
enough  to  make  you  listen  eagerly  for  his  words, 
always  full  of  meaning,  or  charged  with  a  jest ;  or 
referring  (but  this  was  rare)  to  some  line  or  pas- 
sage from  one  of  the  old  Elizabethan  writers, 
which  was  always  ushered  in  with  a  smile  of  tender 
reverence. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  ; 
a  Memoir"). 

His  speech  was  brief  and  pithy  ;  not  too  often 
humorous  ;  never  sententious  nor  didactic.  Although 
he  sometimes  talked  whilst  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  (at  which  time  he  seldom  looked  at  the  person 
with  whom  he  was  talking),  he  very  often  spoke  as 
if  impelled  by  the  necessity  of  speaking — suddenly, 
precipitately.  If  he  could  have  spoken  very  easily, 
he  might  possibly  have  uttered  long  sentences,  ex- 
positions or  orations  ;  such  as  some  of  his  friends 
indulged  in,  to  the  utter  confusion  of  their  hearers. 

But  he  knew  the  value  of  silence  ;  and  he  knew 
that  even  truth  may  be  damaged  by  too  many  words. 
When  he  did  speak,  his  words  had  a  flavor  in  them 
beyond  any  that  I  have  heard  elsewhere.  His  con- 
versation dwelt  upon  persons  or  things  within  his 
own  recollection,  or  it  opened  (with  a  startling 
doubt,  or  a  question,  or  a  piece  of  quaint  humor) 
the  great  circle  of  thought. — Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Charles  Lamb  ;  a  Memoir"  ). 

There  was  L himself,  the  most  delightful,  the 

most  provoking,  the  most  witty  and  sensible  of  men. 


Costume — 

various 
character- 
istics. 


Conversa- 
tion. 


126 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Cotiversa- 
tion. 


He  always  made  the  best  pun,  and  the  best  remark 
in  the  course  of  the  evening.  His  serious  conversa- 
tion, Hke  his  serious  writing,  is  his  best.  No  one 
ever  stammered  out  such  fine,  piquant,  deep,  elo- 
quent things  in  half  a  dozen  half-sentences  as  he 
does.  His  jests  scald  like  tears  :  and  he  probes  a 
question  with  a  play  upon  words.  .  .  .  There 
was  no  fuss  or  cant  about  him  ;  nor  were  his  sweets 
or  his  sours  ever  diluted  with  one  particle  of  affecta- 
tion.— William  Hazlitt  ("  Conversation  of  Au- 
thors "). 

Many  of  Lamb's  witty  and  curious  sayings  have 
been  repeated  since  his  death,  which  are  worthy  to 
be  held  in  undying  remembrance  ;  but  they  give  no 
idea  of  the  general  tenor  of  his  conversation,  which 
was  far  more  singular  and  delightful  in  the  traits, 
which  could  never  be  recalled,  than  in  the  epi- 
grammatic terms  which  it  is  possible  to  quote. 
It  was  fretted  into  perpetual  eddies  of  verbal  fe- 
licity and  happy  thought,  with  little  tranquil  inter- 
vals reflecting  images  of  exceeding  elegance  and 
grace. — Thomas  N.  Talfourd  (*'  Letters  of  Charles 
Lamb  "). 

He  has  an  affectionate  heart,  a  mind  sui  generis ; 
his  taste  acts  so  as  to  appear  like  the  unmechanic 
simplicity  of  an  instinct— in  brief,  he  is  worth  an 
hundred  men  of  7nere  talents.  Conversation  with 
the  latter  tribe  is  like  the  use  of  leaden  bells — one 
warms  by  exercise.  Lamb  every  now  and  then  irra- 
diates,  and  the  beam,  though  single  and  fine  as  a 
hair,  is  yet  rich  with  colors,  and  I  both  see  and  feel 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


127 


it. — Samuel   T.  Coleridge  (from  a  Letter  to  God- 
win, in  C.  K.  Paul's  "  W.  Godwin  ").' 

In  miscellaneous  gatherings  Lamb  said  little  un- 
less an  opening  arose  for  a  pun.  And  how  effectual 
that  sort  of  small  shot  was  from  /«';;/,  I  need  not 
say  to  anybody  who  remembers  his  infirmity  of 
stammering,  and  his  dexterous  management  of  it  for 
purposes  of  light  and  shade.  He  was  often  able  to 
train  the  roll  of  stammers  into  settling  upon  the 
words  immediately  preceding  the  effective  one,  by 
which  means  the  keynote  of  the  jest  or  sarcasm, 
benefiting  by  the  sudden  liberation  of  his  embar- 
goed voice,  was  delivered  with  the  force  of  a  pistol- 
shot.  That  stammer  was  worth  an  annuity  to  him 
as  an  ally  of  his  wit.  Firing  under  cover  of  that  ad- 
vantage he  did  triple  execution  ;  for,  in  the  first 
place,  the  distressing  sympathy  of  the  hearers  with 
his  distress  of  utterance  won  for  him  unavoidably 
the  silence  of  deep  attention  ;  and  then,  whilst  he 
had  us  all  hoaxed  into  attitude  of  mute  suspense  by 
an  appearance  of  distress  that  he  perhaps  did  not 
really  feel,  down  came  a  plunging  shot  into  the 
very  thick  of  us,  with  ten  times  the  effect  it  would 
else  have  had. — Thomas  De  Quincey  ("  Biographical 
Essays  ").* 

Lamb  read  remarkably  well.  There  was  rather  a 
defect  of  vigor  in  his  style  of  reading  ;  and  it  was  a 


'  Paul  (Rev.  Charles  Kegan).  William  Godwin  ;  his  Friends 
and  Contemporaries.     2  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1876. 

^  De  Quincey  (Thomas).  Biographical  Essays.  i6mo.  Boston, 
1851. 


Artful 
stamnur- 


128 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


As  a 
reader. 


Unmusical. 


Recollec- 
tions of  a 
Jeiloin- 
cler/c. 


Style  better  suited  to  passages  of  tranquil  or  solemn 
movement,  than  to  those  of  tumultuous  passion.  But 
his  management  of  the  pauses  was  judicious,  his 
enunciation  very  distinct,  his  tones  melodious  and 
deep,  and  his  cadences  well  executed. — Thomas  De 
QuiNCEY  ("  Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

When  he  read  aloud  it  was  with  a  slight  tone, 
which  I  used  to  think  he  had  caught  from  Cole- 
ridge ;  Coleridge's  recitation,  however,  rising  to  a 
chant. — Bryan  W,  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  ;  a  Me- 
moir "). 

Lamb  was  entirely  destitute  of  what  is  commonly 
called  "a  taste  for  music."  A  few  old  tunes  ran  in 
his  head ;  now  and  then  the  expression  of  a  senti- 
ment, though  never  of  song,  touched  him  with  rare 
and  exquisite  delight.  .  .  .  But  usually  music 
only  confused  him,  and  an  opera — to  which  he  once 
or  twice  tried  to  accompany  Miss  I  sola — was  to  him 
a  maze  of  sound  in  which  he  almost  lost  his  wits. — 
Thomas  N.  Talfourd  (*'  Letters  of  Lamb  "). 

The  Rev.  Joseph  H.  Twichell,  in  an  interesting  ar- 
ticle— "  Concerning  Charles  Lamb  " — published  in 
Scribner's  Monthly,  March,  1876,  gives  some  valuable 
information  about  Lamb's  commercial  life.  In  a 
railway  carriage  in  England,  Mr.  Twichell  had  the 
good  luck  to  meet  a  gentleman  who  had  been  a  fel- 
low-clerk of  Lamb's  :  "  Lamb's  handwriting,  he  said, 
was  for  commercial  purposes  (alas !)  faulty  :  he  was 
neither  a  neat  nor  an  accurate  accountant ;  he  made 
frequent  errors,  whicli  he  was  in  the  habit  of  wiping 
out  with  his  little  finger.     (All  of  which  Mr.  Ogilvie 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


129 


illustrated  with  a  pencil  on  the  margin  of  a  news- 
paper.) .  .  .  He  further  stated  that  for  all  Lamb 
so  ruefully  bewails,  in  his  letters,  the  hardship  of  his 
India  House  task,  he  hardly  ever  used  to  do  what 
w^ould  be  called  a  full  day's  work  :  he  often  came 
late  (we  know  for  certain  he  did  once),  and  generally 
stood  around  and  talked  a  good  deal." 


Much  injustice  has  been  done  to  Lamb  by  accus- 
ing him  of  excess  in  drinking.  The  truth  is,  that  a 
very  small  quantity  of  any  strong  liquid  (wine,  etc.) 
disturbed  his  speech,  which  at  best  was  but  an  elo- 
quent stammer.  The  distresses  of  his  early  life  made 
him  ready  to  resort  to  any  remedy  which  brought  for- 
getfulness  ;  and  he  himself,  frail  in  body  and  excit- 
able, was  very  speedily  affected.  During  all  my  in- 
timacy with  him,  I  never  knew  him  drink  immoder- 
ately, except  once.  .  ,  .  Lamb's  mode  of  life  was 
temperate,  his  dinners  consisting  of  meat,  with  veg- 
etables and  bread  only.  .  .  .  He  was  himself  a 
small  and  delicate  eater  at  all  times  ;  and  he  enter- 
tained something  like  aversion  toward  great  feeders. 
— Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  ;  a  Memoir"). 

With  respect  to  Lamb's  personal  habits,  much  has 
been  said  of  his  intemperance  ;  and  his  biographer 
justly  remarks,  that  a  false  impression  prevails  upon 
this  subject.  In  eating  he  was  peculiarly  temperate  ; 
and,  with  respect  to  drinking,  though  his  own  ad- 
mirable wit  (as  in  that  delightful  letter  to  Mr.  Carey, 
where  he  describes  himself,  when  confided  to  the 
care  of  some  youthful  protector,  as  "  as  an  old  rep- 
robate Telemachus  consigned  to  the  guidance  of  a 
III.— 9 


Recollec- 
tions 0/  a 
_fello7i<- 
cUrk. 


TetnpeY- 
ance. 


Mistake 

about  his 

intemper- 

ance. 


I30 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


J\fistake 
about  his 


wise  young  Mentor  ") — though,  I  say,  his  own  ad- 
mirable wit  has  held  up  too  bright  a  torch  to  the  il- 
lumination of  his  own  infirmities,  so  that  no  efforts 
^"^^"'//^'  ^^  pious  friendship  could  now  avail  to  disguise  the 
truth,  yet  it  must  not  be  forgotten — ist,  that  we  are 
not  to  imagine  Lamb's  frailty  in  this  respect  habit- 
ual or  deliberate — he  made  many  powerful  resist- 
ances to  temptation  ;  2dly,  he  often  succeeded  for  long 
seasons  in  practising  entire  abstinence  ;  3dly,  when 
he  ^/</ yield  to  the  mingled  temptation  of  wine,  social 
pleasure,  and  the  expansion  of  his  own  brotherly 
heart,  that  prompted  him  to  entire  sympathy  with 
those  around  him  (and  it  cannot  be  denied  that,  for 
any  one  man  to  preserve  an  absolute  sobriety 
amongst  a  jovial  company,  wears  too  much  the 
childish  air  of  playing  the  spy  upon  the  privileged 
extravagances  of  festive  mirth), — whenever  this  did 
happen,  Lamb,  never,  to  my  knowledge,  passed  the 
bounds  of  an  agreeable  elevation.  He  was  joyous, 
radiant  with  wit  and  frolic,  mounting  Avith  the  sud- 
den motion  of  a  rocket  into  the  highest  heaven  of 
i  outrageous  fun  and  absurdity  ;  then  bursting  into  a 
fiery  shower  of  puns,  chasing  syllables  with  the  agil- 
ity of  a  squirrel  bounding  amongst  the  trees,  or  a 
cat  pursuing  its  own  tail ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
stormy  gayety,  he  never  said  or  did  anything  that 
could  by  possibility  wound  or  annoy.  The  most  no- 
ticeable feature  in  his  intoxication  was  the  sudden- 
ness with  which  it  ascended  to  its  meridian.  Half  a 
dozen  glasses  of  wine  taken  during  dinner — for 
ever\'body  was  encouraged  by  his  sunshiny  kindness, 
to  ask  him  to  take  wine — these,  with  perhaps  one  or 
two  after  dinner,  sufficed  to  complete  his  inebriation 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


131 


to  the  crisis  of  sleep  ;  after  waking  fi-om  which,  so 
far  as  I  know,  he  seldom  recommenced  drinking. 
This  sudden  consummation  of  the  effects  was  not, 
perhaps,  owing  to  a  weaker  (as  Sergeant  Talfourd 
supposes),  but  rather  to  a  more  delicate  and  irritable 
system,  than  is  generally  found  amongst  men.  The 
sensibility  of  his  organization  was  so  exquisite,  that 
effects  which  travel  by  separate  stages  with  most 
other  men,  in  him  fled  along  the  nerves  with  the  ve- 
locity of  light.— Thomas  De  Quincey  ("Literary 
Reminiscences  "). 

The  reader  must  not  for  a  moment  suppose 
.  .  .  that  Charles  Lamb  was  in  the  habit  of  in- 
dulging in  that  "inordinate  cup,"  which  is  so  justly 
said  to  be  "  unblest,  and  its  ingredient  a  devil." 
My  very  object  and  excuse  in  alluding  to  the  sub- 
ject has  been  to  show  that  precisely  the  reverse  was 
the  case — that  the  cup  in  which  he  indulged  was  a 
blessing  one,  no  less  to  himself  than  to  others,  and 
that  for  both  parties  "  its  ingredient "  was  an  angel. 
— Peter  G.  Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaint- 
ance "). 

Julius  Hare  told  Daniel  Macmillan  that  "two 
glasses  of  wine  made  Lamb  quite  light — not  tipsy 
but  elevated."  So  Daniel  Macmillan  wrote  in  a 
letter  published  in  his  memoir  by  Thomas  Hughes. 

Perhaps  the  pipe  was  the  only  thing  in  which 
Lamb  really  exceeded.  He  was  fond  of  it  from  the 
very  early  years  when  he  was  accustomed  to  smoke 
"  Orinooko  "  at  the  "  Salutation  and  Cat,"  with  Cole- 
ridge in  1796.     He  attempted  on  several  occasions 


Mistake 

about  his 

intevipcr- 

ance. 


Tobacco, 


132 


CHARLES  J.  A  MB. 


to  give  it  up,  but  his  struggles  were  overcome  by 
counter-influences.  "Tobacco,"  he  says,  "stood  in 
Tobacco,  its  owu  Hgiit."  At  last,  in  1805,  he  was  able  to  con- 
quer and  abandon  it — for  a  time.  His  success,  like 
desertion  from  a  friend,  caused  some  remorse  and 
a  great  deal  of  regret.  In  writing  to  Coleridge 
about  his  house,  which  was  "smoky,"  he  inquires, 
"Have  you  cured  it?  It  is  hard  to  cure  anything 
of  smoking." — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("Charles  Lamb  ; 
a  Memoir"). 

It  was  curious  to  note  the  gradations  in  Lamb's 
manner  to  his  various  guests,  although  it  was  cour- 
Manners  to  tcous  to  all.  With  HazHtt  he  talked  as  though  they 
fiunds.  met  the  subject  in  discussion  on  eqtial  terms  ;  with 
Leigh  Hunt  he  exchanged  repartees  ;  to  Words- 
worth he  was  almost  respectful  ;  with  Coleridge  he 
was  sometimes  jocose,  sometimes  deferring  ;  with 
Martin  Burney  fraternally  familiar  ;  with  Manning 
affectionate  ;  with  Godwin  merely  courteous ;  or  if 
friendly,  then  in  a  minor  degree. — Bryan  W.  Proc- 
ter ("Charles  Lamb  ;  a  Memoir"). 


Charles  Lamb  had  a  head  worthy  of  Aristotle, 
with  as  fine  a  heart  as  ever  beat  in  human  bosom, 
and  limbs  very  fragile  to  sustain  it.  ,  .  .  There 
never  was  a  true  portrait  of  Lamb.  His  features 
were  strongly  yet  delicately  cut  ;  he  had  a  fine  eye 
as  well  as  forehead  ;  and  no  face  carried  in  it  greater 
marks  of  thought  and  feeling.  ...  As  his 
frame,  so  was  his  genius.  It  was  as  fit  for  thought 
as  could  be,  and  equally  as  unfit  for  action  ;  and 
this  rendered  him  melancholy,  apprehensive,  humor- 


al sfrong' 
tnind  in  a 
tueak  body. 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


133 


ous,  and  willing  to  make  the  best  of  every  thing  as 
it  was,  both  from  tenderness  of  heart,  and  abhor- 
rence of  alteration.  His  understanding  was  too 
great  to  admit  an  absurdity  ;  his  frame  was  not 
strong  enough  to  deliver  it  from  a  fear.  His  sensi- 
bility to  strong  contrasts  was  the  foundation  of  his 
humor,  which  was  that  of  a  wit  at  once  melancholy 
and  willing  to  be  pleased.  He  would  beard  a  su- 
perstition, and  shudder  at  the  old  phantasm  while 
he  did  it.  One  could  have  imagined  him  cracking 
a  jest  in  the  teeth  of  a  ghost,  and  then  melting 
into  thin  air  himself,  out  of  a  sympathy  with  the 
awful. — Leigh  Hunt  ("Autobiography"). 

Finding  no  footing  in  certainty,  he  delighted  to 
confound  the  borders  of  theoretical  truth  and  false- 
hood. He  was  fond  of  telling  wild  stories  to  chil- 
dren, engrafted  on  things  about  them  ;  wrote  letters 
to  people  abroad,  telling  them  that  a  friend  of  theirs 
had  come  out  in  genteel  comedy  ;  and  persuaded 
George  Dyer  that  Lord  Castlereagh  was  the  author 
of  "  Waverley  ! "  .  .  .  He  wrote  .  .  .  two 
lives  of  Liston  and  Munden,  which  the  public  took 
for  serious,  and  which  exhibit  an  extraordinary 
jumble  of  imaginary  facts  and  truth  of  by-painting. 
Munden  he  made  born  at  Stoke  Pogis,  the  very 
sound  of  which  was  like  the  actor  speaking  and 
digging  his  words.  He  knew  how  many  false  con- 
clusions and  pretensions  are  made  by  men  who  pro- 
fess to  be  guided  by  facts  only,  as  if  facts  could  not 
be  misconceived,  or  figments  taken  for  them  ;  and 
therefore,  one  day,  when  somebody  was  speaking 
of  a  person  who  valued  himself  on  being  a  matter- 


A  strong 
mind  in  it 
weak  body. 


Lo7ie  of 

paradox 

and  ejctrav 

agance. 


134 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Love  of 

piiradox 

andextrav- 

agance. 


"  Do  you  re- 
tnember  f  " 


of- fact  man,  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  I  value  myself  on 
being  a  matter-of-lie  man." — Leigh  Hunt  ("Auto- 
biography "). 

Lamb,  in  a  letter  to  Southey,  dated  August  ninth, 
1815,  more  than  seven  years  after  the  event,  thus 
alludes  to  his  having  been  present :  "  I  was  at  Haz- 
litt's  marriage,  and  had  like  to  have  been  turned 
out  several  times  during  the  ceremony.  Anything 
awful  makes  me  laugh." — William  C.  Hazlitt 
("  Memoirs  of  W.  Hazlitt  ").' 

In  the  words  of  our  dear  departed  friend,  Charles 
Lamb,  "  you  good-for-nothing  old  Lake  Poet," 
what  has  become  of  you  ?  Do  you  remember  his 
saying  that  at  my  table  in  18 19,  with  "Jerusalem" 
towering  behind  us  in  the  painting  room,  and  Keats 
and  your  friend  Monkhouse  of  the  party  ?  Do 
you  remember  Lamb  voting  me  absent,  and  then 
making  a  speech  descanting  on  my  excellent  port, 
and  proposing  a  vote  of  thanks  ?  Do  you  remem- 
ber his  then  voting  me  present  ?  I  had  never  left 
mv  chair — and  informinc:  me  of  what  had  been 
done  during  my  retirement,  and  hoping  I  was  duly 
sensible  of  the  honor  ?  Do  you  remember  the 
Commissioner  (of  Stamps  and  Taxes)  who  asked 
you  if  you  did  not  think  Milton  a  great  genius,  and 
Lamb  getting  up  and  asking  leave  with  a  candle  to 
examine  his  phrenological  development  ?  Do  you 
remember  poor  dear  Lamb,  whenever  the  Commis- 
sioner was  equally  profound,  saying  :  "  My  son  John 


'  Hazlitt   (William  Carevv).     Memoirs  of  William   Hazlitt.     2 
vols.,  i2mo.      Lundcii,   1867. 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


135 


"  Do  you  re- 
member ?  " 


went  to  bed  with  his  breeches  on,"  to  the  dismay  of 
the  learned  man  ?  Do  you  remember  you  and  I  and 
Monkhouse  getting  Lamb  out  of  tlie  room  by  force, 
and  putting  on  his  great-coat,  he  reiterating  his 
earnest  desire  to  examine  the  Commissioner's  skull  ? 
.  .  .  Ah  !  my  dear  old  friend,  you  and  I  shall 
never  see  such  days  again  !  The  peaches  are  not  so 
big  now  as  they  were  in  our  days. — Benjamin  R. 
Haydon  (Letter  to  Wordsworth,  1842,  published  in 
Haydon's  "Correspondence  ").' 


■  Charles  was  frequently  merry  ;  but  ever  at  the 
back  of  his  merriment,  there  reposed  a  grave  depth, 
in  which  rich  colors  and  tender  lights  were  inlaid. 
For  his  jests  sprang  from  his  sensibility  ;  which  was 
as  open  to  pleasure  as  to  pain.  This  sensibility,  if 
it  somewhat  impaired  his  vigor,  led  him  into  curious 
and  delicate  fancies,  and  taught  him  a  liking  for 
things  of  the  highest  relish,  which  a  mere  robust 
jester  never  tastes. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles 
Lamb  ;   a  Memoir  "). 

I  once  said  something  in  his  presence  which  I 
thought  possessed  smartness.  He  commended  me 
with  a  stammer  :  "  Very  well,  my  dear  boy,  very 
well  ;  Ben  (taking  a  pinch  of  snuff)  Ben  Jonson  has 
said  worse  things  than  that — and  b-b-better." 

To  Coleridge  :  "  Bless  you,  old  sophist,  who  next 
to  human  nature  taught  me  all  the  corruption  I  was 
capable  of  knowing." 


'  Haydon  (Frederick  W.).  Benjamin  Robert  Haydon.  Corre- 
spondence and  Table-talk,  with  a  Memoir.  2  vols.,  8vo.  Lon- 
don, 1876. 


Ckitracier 
of  his 
humor 


Specimens 
of  his 
humor. 


136 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


S/tcimetis 

of  his 

humor. 


At  hime 
and  in 
society. 


To  Mr.  Gilman  ...  he  writes,  "  Coleridge  is 
very^  bad,  but  he  wonderfully  picks  up,  and  his  face, 
when  he  repeats  his  verses,  hath  its  ancient  glory 
— an  archangel's  a  little  damaged." 

To  Wordsworth  (who  was  superfluously  solemn) 

he  writes  :  "  Some  d d  people  have  come  in,  and 

I  must  finish  abruptly.       By  d d,  I  only  mean 

deuced." 

"  Charles,"  said  Coleridge  to  Lamb,  "  I  think  you 
have  heard  me  preach  ?  "  "I  n-n-never  heard  you 
do  anything  else,"  replied  Lamb. 

Mrs.  K.,  after  expressing  her  love  for  her  young 
children,  added,  tenderly,  "  And  how  do  you  like 
babies,  Mr.  Lamb  ?  "  His  answ'er,  immediate,  almost 
precipitate,  Avas  "  Boi-boi-boiled,  ma'am." 

An  old  lady,  fond  of  her  dissenting  minister,  wea- 
ried Lamb  by  the  length  of  her  praises.  "  I  speak 
because  I  know  him  well,"  said  she.  "  Well,  I  don't  ;  " 
replied  Lamb,  "  I  don't  ;  but  d n  him,  at  a  vent- 
ure."— Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  :  a 
Memoir  "). 

The  fact  is,  that  in  ordinar}^  society,  if  Lamb  was 
not  an  ordinary  man,  he  was  only  an  odd  and 
strange  one — displaying  no  superior  know^ledge  or 
wit  or  wisdom  or  eloquence,  but  only  that  invari- 
able accompaniment  of  genius,  a  moral  incapacity 
to  subside  into  the  conventional  cant  or  the  flat 
commonplace  of  every-day  life.  He  would  do  any- 
thing to  gratify  his  guests  but  that.  He  would 
joke,  or  mystify,  or  pun,  or  play  the  buffoon  ;  but  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  prose,  or  preach,  or  play 
the   philosopher.      He    could   not    be   himself    (for 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


137 


Others,  I  mean)  except  when  something  out  of  him- 
self made  him  so  ;  but  he  could  not  be  anything  at 
variance  with  himself  to  please  a  king. 

The  consequence  was,  that  to  those  who  did  not 
know  him,  or,  knowing,  did  not  or  could  not  appre- 
ciate him,  Lamb  often  passed  for  something  between 
an  imbecile,  a  brute,  and  a  buffoon  ;  and  the  first 
impression  he  made  on  ordinary  people  was  always 
unfavorable — sometimes  to  a  violent  and  repulsive 
degree.  .  .  .  The  truth  is,  that  the  Elia  of  pri- 
vate life  could  be  known  and  appreciated  only  by 
his  friends  and  intimates,  and  even  by  them  only  at 
home.  He  shone,  and  was  answerable  to  his  literary 
and  social  reputation,  only  in  a  tete-a-tete,  or  in  those 
unpremeditated  colloquies  over  his  own  table,  or  by 
his  own  fireside,  in  which  his  sister  and  one  or  two 
more  friends  took  part,  and  in  which  every  inani- 
mate object  about  him  was  as  familiar  as  the 
"  household  words  "  in  which  he  uttered  his  deep 
and  subtle  thoughts,  his  quaint  and  strange  fancies, 
and  his  sweet  and  humane  philosophy.  Under  these 
circumstances,  he  was  perfectly  and  emphatically  a 
natural  person,  and  there  was  not  a  vestige  of  that 
startling  oddity  and  extravagance,  which  subjected 
him  to  the  charge. of  affecting  to  be  "  singular  "  and 
"  original  "  in  his  notions,  feelings,  and  opinions. 

In  any  other  species  of  "  company  "  than  that  to 
which  I  have  just  referred,  however  cultivated  or 
intellectual  it  might  be.  Lamb  was  unquestionably 
liable  to  the  charge  of  seeming  to  court  attention  by 
the  strangeness  and  novelty  of  his  opinions,  rather 
than  by  their  justness  and  truth — he  was  liable  and 
open  to  this  charge,  but  as  certainly  he  did  not  de- 


At  home 
and  in 
society. 


138 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


serve  it ;  for  affectation  supposes  a  sometliing  assumed, 
put  on,  pretended — and  of  this  Lamb  was  pliysically 
as  well  as  morally  incapable.  His  strangeness  and 
oddity  under  the  one  set  of  circumstances,  was  as 
natural  to  him  as  his  naturalness  and  simplicity  un- 
der the  other. — Peter  G.  Patmore  ("  My  Friends 
and  Acquaintance  "). 


At  home 
and  in 
society. 


An  inclu- 
sive. 


A  hater  of 

SCdIldill. 


There  were  but  two  persons  whom  Lamb  avowedly 
did  not  wish  to  encounter  beneath  his  roof,  and  those 
two,  merely  on  account  of  private  and  family  differ- 
ences. For  the  rest,  they  left  all  their  hostilities  at 
the  door,  with  their  sticks.  This  forbearance  w^as 
due  to  the  truly  tolerant  spirit  of  the  host,  which  in- 
fluenced all  within  its  sphere.  Lamb,  while  he  will- 
ingly lent  a  crutch  to  halting  humility,  took  delight 
in  tripping  up  the  stilts  of  pretension.  Anybody 
might  trot  out  his  hobby  :  but  he  allowed  nobody  to 
ride  the  high  horse.  .  .  .  He  hated  anything 
like  cock-of-the-walk-ism  ;  and  set  his  face  and  his 
wit  against  all  ultraism,  transcendentalism,  senti- 
mentalism,  conventional  mannerism,  and  above  all, 
separatism.  In  opposition  to  the  exclusives,  he  was 
emphatically  an  inclusive. — Thomas  Hood  ("  Liter- 
ary Reminiscences  "). 

If  he  was  intolerant  of  anything,  it  was  of  intoler- 
ance. .  .  .  He  hated  evil-speaking,  carping,  and 
petty  scandal.  On  one  occasion  having  slipped  out 
an  anecdote  to  the  discredit  of  a  literary  man,  dur- 
ing a  very  confidential  conversation,  the  next  mo- 
ment, with  an  expression  of  remorse  for  having  im- 
paired even  my  opinion  of  the  party,  he  bound  me 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


139 


solemnly  to  bury  the  story  in  my  own  bosom.  In 
another  case  he  characteristically  rebuked  the  back- 
biting spirit  of  a  censorious  neighbor.  Some  Mrs. 
Candor  telling  him,  in  expectation  of  an  ill-natured 

comment,  that  Miss ,  the  teacher  at  the  Ladies' 

School,  had  married  a  publican.     "  Has  she  so  ?  " 


said    Lamb,    "  then    I'll    have    my   beer   there  !  " — 
Thomas  Hood  ("  Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

Lamb,  from  the  dread  of  appearing  affected,  some- 
times injured  himself  by  his  behavior  before  persons 
who  were  slightly  acquainted  with  him.  With  the 
finest  and  tenderest  feelings  ever  possessed  by  man, 
he  seemed  carefvdly  to  avoid  any  display  of  senti- 
mentality in  his  talk. — Charles  R.  Leslie  ("  Auto- 
biographical Recollections  "). 

Mary  Cowden  Clarke,  in  an  article  published  in 
the  Gentleinaii  s  Magazine,  December,  1873,  tran- 
scribes a  whimsical  letter  which  Lamb  sent  to  her 
husband  in  1829.  In  this  letter  Lamb  says,  "  I  am 
called  the  Black  Shepherd — you  shall  be  Cowden 
with  the  Tuft  ; "  whereupon  Mrs.  Clarke  observes  ; 
"  The  latter  name  ('  Cowden  with  tlie  Tuft ')  slyly 
implies  the  smooth  baldness  with  scant  curly  hair 
distinguishing  the  head  of  the  friend  addressed,  and 
which  seemed  to  strike  Charles  Lamb  so  forcibly 
that  one  evening,  after  gazing  at  it  for  some  time, 
he  suddenly  broke  forth  with  the  exclamation,  '  Gad, 
Clarke  !  what  whiskers  you  have  behind  your  head  ! ' 
He  was  fond  of  trying  the  dispositions  of  those  Avith 
whom  he  associated  by  an  odd  speech  such  as  this  ; 
and  if  they  stood  the  test  pleasantly  and  took  it  in 


A  haifr  of 
scandal. 


Anti-senti- 
mentality. 


Testing  his'' 
friends. 


140 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Testing  his 
friends. 


Whimsical- 
ity. 


Simplicity 

ami  hatred 

of  ajfecta' 

tioH, 


good  part  he  liked  them  the  better  ever  after.  One 
time  that  the  Novellos  and  Cowden  Clarkes  went 
down  to  see  the  Lambs  at  Enfield,  and  he  was  stand- 
ing by  his  book-shelves  talking  with  them  in  his 
usual  delightful  cordial  way,  showing  them  some 
precious  volume  lately  added  to  his  store,  a  neighbor 
chancing  to  come  in  to  remind  Charles  Lamb  of  an 
appointed  ramble,  he  excused  himself  by  saying  : — 
*  You  see  I  have  some  troublesome  people  just  come 
down  from  town,  and  I  must  stay  and  entertain 
them  ;  so  we'll  take  our  walk  together  to-morrow.'  " 

His  style  of  playful  bluntness  when  speaking  to 
his  intimates  was  strangely  pleasant — nay,  welcome  : 
it  gave  you  the  impression  of  his  liking  you  well 
enough  to  be  rough  and  unceremonious  with  you  : 
it  showed  you  that  he  felt  at  home  with  you.  It 
accorded  with  what  you  knew  to  be  at  the  root  of 
an  ironical  assertion  he  made — that  he  always  gave 
away  gifts,  parted  with  presents,  and  sold  keepsakes. 
It  underlay  in  sentiment  the  drollery  and  reversed 
truth  of  his  saying  to  us,  "  I  always  call  my  sister 
Maria  when  we  are  alone  together,  Mary  when 
we  are  with  our  friends,  and  Moll  before  the  ser- 
vants."— Mary  Cowden  Clarke  ("  Recollections  of 
Writers  "). 

The  very  basis  of  Lamb's  character  was  laid  in 
horror  of  affectation.  If  he  found  himself  by  acci- 
dent using  a  rather  fine  word,  notwithstanding  that 
it  might  be  the  most  forcible  in  that  place  (the  word 
arrest^  suppose,  in  certain  situations  for  the  word 
catch)  he   would,  if  it  were  allowed  to  stand,  make 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


141 


merry  with  his  own  grandiloquence  at  the  moment  ; 
and,  in  after-moments,  he  would  continually  ridicule 
that  class  of  words,  by  others  carried  to  an  extreme 
of  pedantry — the  word  arride,  for  instance,  used  in 
the  sense  of  pleasing  or  winning  the  approbation. 
.  .  .  Hence — that  is,  from  this  intense  sincerity 
and  truth  of  character — Lamb  would  allow  himself 
to  say  things  that  shocked  the  feelings  of  the  com- 
pany— shocked  sometimes  in  the  sense  of  startling 
or  electrifying,  as  by  something  that  was  odd  ;  but 
also  sometimes  shocked  with  the  sense  of  what  was 
revolting,  as  by  a  Swiftian  laying  bare  of  naked, 
shivering  human  nature.  —  Thomas  De  Quincey 
("  Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

Lamb  never  affected  any  spurious  gravity.  Neither 
did  he  ever  act  the  Grand  Senior.  He  did  not  exact 
that  common  copy-book  respect,  which  some  asinine 
persons  would  fain  command  on  account  of  the  mere 
length  of  their  years.  .  .  .  There  was  nothing 
of  Sir  Oracle  about  Lamb.  On  the  contrary,  at 
sight  of  a  solemn  visage  that  "  creamed  and  man- 
tled like  the  standing  pool,"  he  was  the  first  to  pitch 
a  mischievous  stone  to  disturb  the  duck-weed.  "  He 
was  a  boy-man,"  as  he  truly  said  of  Elia  ;  "  and  his 
manners  lagged  behind  his  years."  He  liked  to 
herd  with  people  younger  than  himself.  Perhaps, 
in  his  fine  generalizing  way,  he  thought  that,  in  re- 
lation to  eternity,  we  are  all  contemporaries.  How- 
ever, without  reckoning  birth-days,  it  was  always 
"  Hail  fellow,  well  met ; "  and  although  he  was  my 
elder  by  a  quarter  of  a  century,  he  never  made  me 
feel,  in  our  excursions,  that  I  was  "  taking  a  walk 


Simplicity 
ami  hatted 
0/  affecta- 
tion. 


"A  hoy- 
man." 


142 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Scorn  pf 
J>harisciis)7i. 


Unaffected 
—Shy. 


with  the  schoolmaster." — Thomas  Hood  ("  Literary 
Reminiscences  "). 

The  case  of  insincerity,  above  all  others,  which 
moved  his  bile,  was  where,  "^out  of  some  pretended 
homage  to  public  decorum,  an  individual  was  rvm 
down  on  account  of  any  moral  infirmities,  such  as 
we  all  have,  or  have  had,  or  at  least  so  easily  and 
naturally  may  have  had,  that  nobody  knows  w'hether 
we  have  them  or  not.  In  such  a  case,  and  in  this 
only  almost.  Lamb  could  be  savage  in  his  manner. 

I  remember  one  instance,  where  many  of  the 
leading  authors  of  our  age  were  assembled — Cole- 
ridge, Wordsworth,  Southey,  etc.  Lamb  was  amongst 
them  ;  and  when was  denounced  as  a  man  care- 
less in  the  education  of  his  children,  and  generally 
reputed  to  lead  a  licentious  life—"  Pretty  fellows  we 
are,"  said  Lamb,  "  to  abuse  him  on  that  last  score, 
when  every  one  of  us,  I  suppose,  on  going  out  this 
night  into  the  Strand,  will  make  up  to  the  first  pretty 
girl  he  sees."  Some  laughed — some  looked  grim — 
some  looked  grand — but  Wordsworth,  smiling,  and 
yet  with  solemnity,  said — "  I  hope,  I  trust,  Mr.  Lamb, 
you  are  mistaken  ;  or,  at  least,  you  do  not  include 
us  all  in  this  sweeping  judgment?"  "Oh,  as  to 
that,"  said  Lamb,  "who  knows  ?  There's  no  telling  : 
sad  Josephs  are  some  of  us  in  this  very  room." — 
Thomas  De  Quincey  ("Literary  Reminiscences"). 

Although  sometimes  strange  in  manner,  he  was 
thoroughly  unaffected  ;  in  serious  matters  thorough- 
ly sincere.  He  was,  indeed  (as  he  confesses),  terri- 
bly shy  ;   diffident,  not  awkward  in  manner  ;  with 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


143 


occasionally  nervous,  twitching  motions  that  be- 
trayed this  infirmity.  He  dreaded  the  criticisms  of 
servants  far  more  than  the  observations  of  their 
masters.  To  undergo  the  scrutiny  of  the  first,  as 
he  said  to  me,  when  we  were  going  to  breakfast 
with  Mr.  Rogers  one  morning,  was  "  terrible."  ' — 
Bryan  W.  Procter  ("Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir"). 

He  was  .  .  .  the  most  humble  and  impre- 
tending  of  human  beings,  the  most  thoroughly  sin- 
cere, the  most  impatient  of  simulation  or  dissimu- 
lation, and  the  one  wlio  threw  himself  the  most 
unreservedly  for  your  good  opinion  upon  the  plain 
natural  expression  of  his  real  qualities,  as  nature 
had  formed  them,  without  artifice,  or  design,  or  dis- 
guise, more  than  you  find  in  the  most  childlike  of 
children. — Thomas  De  Quincey  ("  Literary  Remi- 
niscences "). 

Among  the  prominent  characteristics  of  Lamb,  I 
know  not  how  it  is  that  I  have  omitted  to  notice 
the  peculiar  emphasis  and  depth  of  his  courtesy. 
Tills  quality  was  in  him  a  really  chivalrous  feeling, 
springing  from  his  heart,  and  cherished  with  the 
sanctity  of  a  duty. — Thomas  De  Quincey  ("  Liter- 
ary Reminiscences  "). 

Mr.  Lamb  has  a  distaste  to  new  faces,  to  new 
books,  to  new  buildings,  to  new  customs.  He  is 
shy  of  all  imposing  appearances,  of  all  assumptions 
of  self-importance,  of    all  adventitious  ornaments, 

'  Hazlitt  also  was  troubled  by  this  dread  of  servants.  See 
p.  185. 


Unaffected 

—Sky. 


Humility 
and  sin- 
cerity. 


Courtesy. 


Love  of  the 
J>ast. 


144 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Love  for  the 
old  authors. 


of  all  mechanical  advantages,  even  to   a  nervous 
excess.      It    is  not   merely  that    he   does  not   rely 
Lozieofthe    upon,  or  Ordinarily  avail  himself  of  them  ;  he  holds 

past.        \  . 

them  in  abhorrence,  he  utterly  abjures  and  discards 
them,  and  places  a  great  gulf  between  him  and  them. 
.  .  .  He  evades  the  present,  he  mocks  at  the  fu- 
ture. His  affections  revert  to,  and  settle  on  the  past, 
but  then,  even  this  must  have  something  personal 
and  local  in  it  to  interest  him  deeply  and  thoroughly. 
— William  Hazlitt  ("  Spirit  of  the  Age  "). 

No  one,  as  I  believe,  will  ever  taste  the  flavor  of 
certain  writers  as  he  has  done.  He  was  the  last 
true  lover  of  Antiquity.  Although  he  admitted  a 
few  of  the  beauties  of  modern  times,  )'et  in  his 
stronger  love  he  soared  backward  to  old  acclivities, 
and  loved  to  rest  there.  .  .  .  He  had  more  real 
knowledge  of  old  English  literature  than  any  man 
whom  I  ever  knew.  He  was  not  an  antiquarian. 
He  neither  hunted  after  commas,  nor  scribbled 
notes  which  confounded  his  text.  The  Spirit  of  the 
author  descended  upon  him  ;  and  he  felt  it !  With 
Burton  and  Fuller,  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Browne,  he  was  an  intimate.  The  ancient  poets, — 
chiefly  the  dramatic  poets — were  his  especial  friends. 
He  knew  every  point  and  turn  of  their  wit,  all  the 
beauty  of  their  characters  ;  loving  each  for  some 
one  distinguishing  particular,  and  despising  none. — 
Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir"). 

Mr.  Lamb's  taste  in  books  is     .     .     .     fine,  and  it 

is  peculiar.     It  is  not  the  worse  for  a  little  idiosyn- 

VooVi!      crasy.     He  does  not  go  deep  into  the  Scotch  novels, 

but  he  is  at  home  in  Smollett  or  Fielding.     He  is 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


145 


little  read  in  Junius  or  Gibbon,  but  no  man  can  give 
a  better  account  of  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy, 
or  Sir  Thomas  Browne's  Urn-Burial,  or  Fuller's 
Worthies,  or  John  Bunyan's  Holy  War.  No  one  is 
more  unimpressible  to  a  specious  declamation  ;  no 
one  relishes  a  recondite  beauty  more.  His  admira- 
tion of  Shakespeare  and  Milton  does  not  make  him 
despise  Pope  ;  and  he  can  read  Parnell  with  pa- 
tience, and  Gay  with  delight.  His  taste  in  French 
and  German  is  somewhat  defective  ;  nor  has  he  made 
much  progress  in  the  science  of  Political  Economy 
or  other  abstruse  studies,  though  he  has  read  vast 
folios  of  controversial  divinity,  merely  for  the  sake  of 
the  intricacy  of  style,  and  to  save  himself  the  pain  of 
thinking. — William  Hazlitt  ("  Spirit  of  the  Age  "). 

There  were  few  modern  volumes  in  his  collection  ; 
and  subsequently,  such  presentation  copies  as  he 
received  were  wont  to  find  their  way  into  my  own 
book-case,  and  often  through  eccentric  channels. 
A  Leigh  Hunt,  for  instance,  would  come  skimming 
to  my  feet  through  the  branches  of  the  apple-trees 
(our  gardens  were  contiguous)  ;  or  a  Bernard  Bar- 
ton would  be  rolled  down  stairs  after  me,  from  the 
library  door.  Marcian  Colonma  I  remember  finding 
on  my  window-sill,  damp  with  the  night's  fog  ;  and 
the  Plea  of  the  Midsummer  Fairies  I  picked  out  of 
the  strawberry  bed. ' — Thomas  Westwood  {Notes  and 
Queries,  September,  1866). 

'  This  was  during  the  last  years  of  Lamb's  life.    Mr.  Westwood's 
story  has  been  made  the  occasion  for  a  large  amount  of  wire-drawn 
comment,  by  some  of  Lamb's  editors,  as  an  evidence  of  his  un- 
sound mental  condition  ! 
III.— 10 


Taste  in 
books. 


Wliiinsical 

treatment 

0/  tnodern 

books. 


146 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Veracity  of 
Lamb  and 
Coleridge. 


QuicJi-teni- 

Jiered  and 

settsitive. 


Fond  of 
walking. 


I  will  here  add  a  note  or  two  of  Wordsworth's 
conversation.  Talking  of  dear  Charles  Lamb's 
very  strange  habit  of  quizzing,  and  of  Coleridge's 
incorrectness  in  talk.  Wordsworth  said  that  he 
thought  much  of  this  was  owing  to  a  school-habit. 
Lamb's  veracity  was  unquestionable  in  all  matters 
of  a  serious  kind  :  he  never  uttered  an  untruth 
either  for  profit  or  through  vanity,  and  certainly 
never  to  injure  others.  Yet  he  loved  a  quizzing  lie, 
a  fiction  that  amused  him  like  a  good  joke,  or  an 
exercise  of  wit.  In  Coleridge  there  was  a  sort  of 
dreaminess,  which  would  not  let  him  see  things  as 
they  were.  He  would  talk  about  his  own  feelings 
and  recollections  and  intentions  in  a  way  that  de- 
ceived others,  but  he  was  first  deceived  himself. — 
Henry  Crabb  Robinson  ("  Diaiy  "). 

In  temper  he  was  quick,  but  easily  appeased.  He 
never  affected  that  exemption  from  sensibility  which 
has  sometimes  been  mistaken  for  philosophy,  and 
has  conferred  reputation  upon  little  men.  In  a 
word,  he  exhibited  his  emotions  in  a  fine,  simple, 
natural  manner.  Contrary  to  the  usual  habit  of 
wits  ;  no  retort  or  reply  by  Lamb,  however  smart  in 
character,  ever  gave  pain. — Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir  "). 

He  was  restless  and  fond  of  walking.  I  do  not 

think  he  could   ride   on  horseback  ;  but  he  could 

walk    during    all    the    day.— Bryan    W.  Procter 
("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir  "). 

Very  curious  was  the  antipathy  of  Charles  to  ob- 
jects that  are  generally  so  pleasant  to  other  men. 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


H7 


It  was  not  a  passing  humor,  but  a  life-long  dislike. 
He  admired  the  trees,  and  the  meadows,  and  mur- 
muring streams  in  poetry.  I  have  heard  him  repeat 
some  of  Keats's  beautiful  lines  in  the  Ode  to  the 
Nightingale,  about  the  "  pastoral  eglantine,"  with 
great  delight.  But  that  was  another  thing  :  that 
was  an  object  in  its  proper  place  :  that  was  a  piece 
of  art.  Long  ago  he  had  admitted  that  the  moun- 
tains of  Cumberland  were  grand  objects  "  to  look 
at,  but "  (as  he  said)  "  the  houses  in  streets  were  the 
places  to  live  in."  I  imagine  that  he  would  no  more 
have  received  the  former  as  an  equivalent  for  his 
own  modest  home,  than  he  would  have  accepted  a 
portrait  as  a  substitute  for  a  friend.  He  was,  beyond 
all  other  men  whom  I  have  met,  essentially  metro- 
politan. He  loved  "  the  sweet  security  of  streets," 
as  he  said  ;  "  I  would  set  up  my  tabernacle  there." — 
Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir  "). 

"  The  country"  was  to  Lamb  precisely  Vi^hat  Lon- 
don is  to  thoroughly  country  people  born  and  bred, 
— who,  however  they  may  long  to  see  it  for  the 
first  time,  and  are  lost  in  a  week's  empty  admira- 
tion of  its  "  sights  and  wonders," — would  literally  die 
of  homesickness  if  compelled  to  remain  long  in  it. 
I  remember,  when  wandering  once  with  Lamb 
among  the  pleasant  scenery  about  Enfield  shortly 
after  his  retirement  there,  I  was  congratulating  him 
on  the  change  between  these  walks  and  his  accus- 
tomed ones  about  Islington,  Dalston,  and  the  like. 
But  I  soon  found  that  I  was  treading  on  tender 
ground,  and  he  declared  aftenA'ards,  with  a  vehe- 
mence of  expression  extremely  unusual  with  him,  and 


Dislike  /or 
country  life. 


148 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Dislike  for 
country  life. 


Toivn  and 
country. 


almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  the  most  squalid 
garret  in  the  most  confined  and  noisome  purlieu  of 
London  would  be  a  paradise  to  him,  compared  with 
the  fairest  dwelling  placed  in  the  loveliest  scenery 
of  "  the  conwXxy."  "  I  hate  the  country  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  tone  and  with  an  emphasis  which 
showed  not  only  that  the  feeling  came  from  the 
bottom  of  his  soul,  but  that  it  was  working  ungentle 
and  sinister  results  there,  that  he  was  himself  almost 
alarmed  at.  .  .  .  Away  from  London,  Lamb's 
spirits  seemed  to  shrink  and  retire  inwards  and  his 
body  to  fade  and  wither  like  a  plant  in  an  uncon- 
genial soil. — Peter  G.  Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and 
Acquaintance  "). 

When  I  speak  of  his  extreme  liking  for  London, 
it  must  not  be  supposed  that  he  was  insensible  to 
great  scenery.  After  his  only  visit  to  the  Lake 
country,  and  beholding  Skiddaw,  he  writes  back  to 
his  host,  "  O  !  its  fine  black  head,  and  the  bleak  air  at 
the  top  of  it,  with  a  prospect  of  mountains  all  about 
making  you  giddy.  It  was  a  day  that  will  stand  out 
like  a  mountain  in  my  life  ; "  adding,  however, 
"  Fleet  Street  and  the  Strand  are  better  places  to 
live  in,  for  good  and  all.  I  could  not  live  in  Skid- 
daw.  I  could  spend  there  two  or  three  years,  but  I 
must  have  a  prospect  of  seeing  Fleet  Street  at  the 
end  of  that  time,  or  I  should  mope  and  pine  away." 
He  loved  even  its  smoke,  and  asserted  that  it  suited 
his  vision. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  : 
a  Memoir  "). 

July  yd,  1814. — A  day  of  great  pleasure.  Charles 
Lamb  and  I  walked  to  Enfield  by  Southgate,  after 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


149 


an  early  breakfast  in  his  chambers.  .  .  .  After 
tea,  Lamb  and  I  returned.  The  whole  day  delight- 
fully fine,  and  the  scenery  very  agreeable.  Lamb 
cared  for  the  walk  more  than  the  scenery,  for  the 
enjoyment  of  which  he  seems  to  have  no  great  sus- 
ceptibility. His  great  delight,  even  in  preference 
to  a  country  walk,  is  a  stroll  in  London.  The  shops 
and  the  busy  streets,  such  as  Thames  Street,  Bank- 
side,  etc.,  are  his  great  favorites.  He,  for  the  same 
reason,  has  no  great  relish  for  landscape  painting. 
But  his  relish  for  historic  painting  is  exquisite. — 
Henry  Crabb  Robinson  ("  Diary"). 

Some  of  Lamb's  admirers,  more  zealous  than  dis- 
creet, have  maintained  that  he  was  really  an  enthu- 
siastic lover  of  scenery.  In  view  of  all  the  facts, 
such  an  assumption  does  not  seem  tenable.  Words- 
worth, however,  appears  to  have  held  this  view,  if 
we  may  judge  from  Caroline  Fox's  account  of  a  talk 
with  him.  Wordsworth  declared  that  he  himself 
enjoyed  city  life,  whereupon  Caroline  Fox  said  that 
*'  Lamb's  rhapsody  on  London  might  not  then  have 
been  sent  to  him  in  a  spirit  necessarily  ironical. 
'Oh,  no,'  he  answered,  *  and  Lamb's  abuse  of  the 
country  and  his  declared  detestation  of  it  was  all  af- 
fected ;  he  enjoyed  it  and  entered  into  its  beauties  ; 
besides.  Lamb  had  too  kindly  and  sympathetic  a  na- 
ture to  detest  anything.'  " 

There  was  an  hereditary  taint  of  insanity  in  the 
family,  which  caused  even  Charles  himself  to  be 
placed,  for  a  short  time,  in  Hoxton  Lunatic  Asylum. 
"  The  six  weeks  that  finished  last  year  and  began 


Indiffer- 
etice  to 
natural 
scenery. 


Insanity, 


150 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Insanity. 


Life  at 
home. 


this  (1796),  your  very  humble  servant  spent  very 
agreeably  in  a  madhouse,  at  Hoxton."  These 
are  his  words  when  writing  to  Coleridge. — Bryan 
W.  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir  "). 

This  also  is  to  be  added  to  his  afflictions — not 
merely  the  fear,  constantly  impending  that  his  fire- 
side (as  I  said  before)  might  be  rendered  desolate, 
and  that  by  a  sudden  blow,  as  well  as  for  an  indefi- 
nite duration  ;  but  also,  the  fear  (not  equally  strong, 
but  equally  impending  forever)  that  he  himself, 
with  all  his  splendid  faculties,  might,  as  by  a  flash 
of  lightning,  be  swallowed  up  *'  in  darkness  infinite." 
— Thomas De  Quincev  ("Literary  Reminiscences"). 

It  is  not  true  that  he  was  ever  deranged,  or  sub- 
jected to  any  restraint,  shortly  before  his  death. 
There  never  was  the  least  symptom  of  mental  dis- 
turbance in  him  after  the  time  (1795-6)  when  he 
was  placed  for  a  few  weeks  in  Hoxton  Asylum,  to 
allay  a  little  nervous  irritation. — Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir"). 

Whilst  at  home  he  had  no  curiosity  for  what 
passed  beyond  his  own  territory.  His  eyes  were 
never  truant ;  no  one  ever  saw  him  peering  out  of 
window,  examining  the  crowds  flowing  by  ;  no  one 
ever  surprised  him  gazing  on  vacancy.  "I  lose 
myself,"  he  says,  "in  other  men's  minds.  When  I 
am  not  walking  I  am  reading  ;  I  cannot  sit  and 
think  ;  books  think  for  me."  If  it  was  not  tlie  time 
for  his  pipe,  it  was  always  the  time  for  an  old  play, 
or  for  a  talk  with  friends.  In  the  midst  of  this 
society  his  own  mind  grew  green  again  and  bios- 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


151 


somed,  or,  as  he  would  have  said,  "  burgeoned." — 
Bryan  W.  Procter  ("Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir"). 

The  room  in  which  he  lived  was  plainly  and 
almost  carelessly  furnished.  Let  us  enter  it  for  a 
moment.  Its  ornaments,  you  see,  are  principally 
several  long  shelves  of  ancient  books  (those  are  his 
"  ragged  veterans ").  Some  of  Hogarth's  prints, 
two  after  Leonardo  da  Vinci  and  Titian,  and  a  por- 
trait of  Pope,  enrich  the  walls.  At  the  table  sits  an 
elderly  lady  (in  spectacles)  reading  ;  whilst  from  an 
old-fashioned  chair  by  the  fire  springs  up  a  little 
spare  man  in  black,  with  a  countenance  pregnant 
with  expression,  deep  lines  in  his  forehead  ;  quick, 
luminous,  restless  eyes,  and  a  smile  as  sweet  as  ever 
threw  sunshine  upon  the  human  face.  You  see 
that  you  are  welcome.  He  speaks  :  "  Well,  boys, 
how  are  you  ?  What's  the  news  with  you  ?  What 
will  you  take  ? " — Bryan  W.  Procter  {Aihemeimi, 
January,  1835). 

Invited  to  breakfast  with  a  gentleman  in  the  Tem- 
ple, to  meet  Charles  Lamb  and  his  sister.  .  .  . 
There  was  a  rap  at  the  door  at  last,  and  enter  a  gen- 
tleman in  black  small-clothes  and  gaiters,  short  and 
very  slight  in  his  person,  his  head  set  on  his  shoul- 
ders with  a  thoughtful,  fonvard  bent,  his  hair  just 
sprinkled  with  gray,  a  beautiful,  deep-set  eye,  aqui- 
line nose,  and  a  very  indescribable  mouth.  Whether 
it  expressed  most  humor  or  feeling,  good  nature  or 
a  kind  of  whimsical  peevishness,  or  twenty  other 
things  which  passed  over  it  by  turns,  I  cannot  in 
the  least  be  certain.     ...     As  there  was  to  be  no 


A  fireside 
glhnpse. 


A  breakfast 
J>arty. 


152 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


A  breakfast 
J>arty. 


one  else,  we  immediately  drew  round  the  breakfast 
table.  I  had  set  a  large  arm-chair  for  Miss  Lamb. 
"  Don't  take  it,  Mary,"  said  Lamb,  pulling  it  away 
from  her  very  gravely,  "  it  appears  as  if  you  were 
going  to  have  a  tooth  drawn."     . 

Nothing  could  be  more  delightful  than  the  kind- 
ness and  affection  between  the  brother  and  the  sis- 
ter, though  Lamb  was  continually  taking  advantage 
of  her  deafness  to  mystify  her  with  the  most  singu- 
lar gravity  upon  every  subject  that  was  started. 
"  Poor  Mary,"  said  he,  "  she  hears  all  of  an  epigram 
but  the  point."  "  What  are  you  saying  of  me, 
Charles?  "she  asked.  "Mr.  Willis,"  said  he,  rais- 
ing his  voice,  '•'■  admires  your  Confessions  of  a  Drunk- 
ard very  much,  and  I  was  saying  that  it  was  no 
merit  of  yours,  that  you  understood  the  subject." 
We  had  been  speaking  of  this  admirable  essay  (which 
is  his  own),  half  an  hour  before.     .     .     . 

Mr.  R.  spoke  of  buying  a  book  of  Lamb's,  a  few 
days  before,  and  I  mentioned  my  having  bought  a 
copy  of  Elia  the  last  day  I  was  in  America.  .  .  . 
"  What  did  you  give  for  it  ?  "  said  Lamb.  "  About 
seven  and  sixpence."  "  Permit  me  to  pay  you  that," 
said  he,  and  with  the  utmost  earnestness  he  counted 
out  the  money  upon  the  table.  "  T  never  yet  wrote 
anything  that  would  sell,"  he  continued.  "  I  am  the 
publisher's  ruin.  My  last  poem  won't  sell  a  copy. 
Have  you  seen  it,  Mr.  Willis  ?"  I  had  not.  "  It's 
only  eighteen  pence,  and  I'll  give  you  sixpence  to- 
ward it  ; "  and  he  described  to  me  where  I  should 
find  it  sticking  up  in  a  shop-window  in  the  Strand. 

Lamb  ate  nothing,  and  complained  in  a  querulous 
tone  of  the  veal-pie.     There  was  a  kind  of  potted 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


153 


fish,  .  .  .  which  he  had  expected  our  friend 
would  procure  for  him.  He  inquired  whether  there 
was  not  a  morsel  left  perhaps  in  the  bottom  of  the 
last  pot.  Mr.  R.  was  not  sure.  "  Send  and  see,"  said 
Lamb,  "and  if  the  pot  has  been  cleaned,  bring  me  the 
cover.  I  think  the  sight  of  it  would  do  me  good." 
The  cover  was  brought,  upon  which  there  was  a 
picture  of  the  fish.  Lamb  kissed  it  with  a  reproach- 
ful look  at  his  friend,  and  then  left  the  table,  and 
began  to  wander  round  the  room  with  a  broken, 
uncertain  step,  as  if  he  almost  forgot  to  put  one  leg 
before  the  other.  His  sister  rose  after  awhile,  and 
commenced  walking  up  and  down,  very  much  in  the 
same  manner,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  and 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  they  took  their  leave. 
— Nathaniel     P.    Willis     ("  Pencillings     by    the 

Way").' 

The  Lambs  had  heard  of  my  being  in  solitary 
lodgings,  and  insisted  on  my  coming  to  dine  with 
them,  which  more  than  once  I  did  in  the  winter  of 
1821-22.  The  mere  reception  by  the  Lambs  was  so 
full  of  goodness  and  hospitable  feeling,  that  it  kin- 
dled animation  in  the  most  cheerless  or  torpid  of 
invalids.  I  cannot  imagine  that  any  meinorabilia 
occurred  during  the  visit.  There  were  no  strangers  ; 
Charles  Lamb,  his  sister,  and  myself  made  up  the 
party.  Even  this  was  done  in  kindness.  They  knew 
that  I  should  have  been  oppressed  by  an  effort  such 
as  must  be  made  in  the  society  of  strangers  ;  and 
they  placed  me  by  their  own  fireside  where  I  could 


'  Willis  (Nathaniel  Parker).     Pencillings  by  the  Way. 
New  York :  Charles  Scribner.    1853. 


i2mo. 


A  breakfast 
farty. 


A  visit  to 
the  Lambs. 


154 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


A  Tt'sit  to 
the  Latnbs. 


say  as  little  or  as  much  as  I  pleased.  We  dined 
about  five  o'clock,  and  it  was  one  of  the  hospitali- 
ties inevitable  to  the  Lambs,  that  any  game  which 
they  might  receive  from  rural  friends  in  the  course 
of  the  week,  was  reserved  for  the  day  of  a  friend's 
dining  with  them. 

In  regard  to  wine,  Lamb  and  myself  had  the  same 
habit — perhaps  it  rose  to  the  dignity  of  a  principle 
— viz.,  to  take  a  good  deal  during  dinner — none  after 
it.  Consequently,  as  Miss  Lamb  (who  drank  only 
water)  retired  almost  with  the  dinner  itself,  nothing 
remained  for  men  of  our  principles,  the  vigor  of 
which  we  had  illustrated  by  taking  rather  too  much 
of  old  port  before  the  cloth  was  drawn,  except  tak- 
ing amoeboean  colloquy,  or,  in  Dr.  Johnson's  phrase, 
a  dialogue  of  brisk  reciprocation.  But  this  was 
impossible  ;  over  Lamb,  at  this  period  of  his  life, 
there  passed  regularly,  after  taking  wine,  a  brief 
eclipse  of  sleep.  It  descended  upon  him  as  softly 
as  a  shadow.  In  a  gross  person  laden  with  super- 
fluous flesh,  and  sleeping  heavily,  this  would  have 
been  disagreeable  ;  but  in  Lamb,  thin  even  to  mea- 
greness,  spare  and  wiry  as  an  Arab  of  the  desert,  or 
as  Thomas  Aquinas,  wasted  by  scholastic  vigils,  the 
affection  of  sleep  seemed  rather  a  network  of  aerial 
gossamer  than  of  earthly  cobweb  —  more  like  a 
golden  haze  falling  upon  him  gently  from  the  heav- 
ens than  a  cloud  exhaling  upwards  from  the  flesh. 
Motionless  in  his  chair  as  a  bust,  breathing  so 
gently  as  scarcely  to  seem  entirely  alive,  he  pre- 
sented the  image  of  repose  midway  between  life 
and  death  like  the  repose  of  sculpture  ;  and  to  one 
who  knew  his  history,  a  repose  contrasting  with  the 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


155 


calamities  and  internal  storms  of  his  life.  I  have 
heard  more  persons  than  I  can  now  distinctly  recall, 
observe  of  Lamb  when  sleeping,  that  his  counte- 
nance in  that  state  assumed  an  expression  almost 
seraphic,  from  its  intellectual  beauty  of  outline,  its 
childlike  simplicity,  and  its  benignity.  It  could  not 
be  called  a  transfiguration  that  sleep  worked  in  his 
face  ;  for  his  features  wore  essentially  the  same  ex- 
pression when  waking  ;  but  sleep  spiritualized  that 
expression,  exalted  it,  and  also  harmonised  it.  Much 
of  the  change  lay  in  that  last  process.  The  eyes  it 
was  that  disturbed  the  unity  of  effect  in  Lamb's 
waking  face.  They  gave  a  restlessness  to  the  char- 
acter of  his  intellect,  shifting,  like  northern  lights, 
through  every  mode  of  combination  with  fantastic 
playfulness,  and  sometimes  by  fiery  gleams,  obliter- 
ating for  the  moment  that  pure  light  of  benignity 
which  was  the  predominant  reading  on  his  features. 
— Thomas  De  Quincey  ("  Biographical  Essays  "). 

He  took  ray  arm,  and  we  walked  to  the  Temple, 
Lamb  stammering  out  fine  remarks  as  we  walked , 
and  when  we  reached  his  staircase,  he  detained  me 
with  an  urgency  which  would  not  be  denied,  and 
we  mounted  to  the  top  story,  where  an  old  petted 
servant,  called  Becky,  was  ready  to  receive  us.  We 
were  soon  seated  beside  a  cheerful  fire  ;  hot  water 
and  its  better  adjuncts  were  before  us  ;  and  Lamb 
insisted  on  my  sitting  with  him  while  he  smoked 
"  one  pipe."  .  .  •  How  often  the  pipe  and  the 
glasses  were  replenished,  I  will  not  undertake  to 
disclose  ;  but  I  can  never  forget  the  conversation  : 
though  the  first,  it  was  more  solemn,  and  in  higher 


A  visit  to 
the  Lambs. 


An  evening 
in  1815. 


156 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


An  e^icning 
in  1815. 


Charles 

Lainh  at 

home. 


mood,  than  any  I  ever  after  had  with  Lamb  through 
the  whole  of  our  friendship.  How  it  took  such  a 
turn  between  strangers,  one  of  them  a  lad  not  quite 
twenty,  I  cannot  tell  ;  but  so  it  happened.  We 
discoursed  then  of  life  and  death,  and  our  anticipa- 
tion of  a  life  beyond  the  grave.  Lamb  spoke  of 
these  awful  themes  with  the  simplest  piety,  but 
expressed  his  own  fond  cleavings  to  life — to  all 
well-known  accustomed  things — and  a  shivering 
(not  shuddering)  sense  of  that  which  is  to  come, 
which  he  so  finely  indicated  in  his  "  New  Year's 
Eve,"  years  afterward.  It  was  two  o'clock  before 
we  parted, — Thomas  N.  Talfourd  ("  Letters  of 
Charles  Lamb  "). 

I  availed  myself  of  Charles  Lamb's  friendly  invi- 
tation on  Tuesday,  August  5,  1834.  On  reaching 
his  cottage — which  stood  back  from  the  road  (near- 
ly opposite  the  church),  between  two  houses  which 
projected  beyond  it,  and  was  screjned  by  shrubs 
and  trees — I  found  that  he  was  out,  taking  his 
morning's  stroll.  I  was  admitted  into  a  small,  pan- 
elled, and  agreeably  shaded  parlor.  The  modest 
room  was  hung  round  with  engravings  by  Hogarth 
in  dark  frames.  Books  and  magazines  were  scat- 
tered on  the  table  and  on  the  old-fashioned  window 
seat.  I  chatted  awhile  with  Miss  Lamb — a  meek, 
intelligent,  very  pleasant,  but  rather  deaf  elderly 
lady,  who  told  me  that  her  brother  had  been  grati- 
fied by  parts  of  my  poem  ("  Emily  de  Wilton  ")  and 
had  read  them  to  her.  "  Elia  "  came  in  soon  after 
— a  short  thin  man.  His  dress  was  black,  and  he 
wore  a  capacious  coat,  breeches  and  gaiters,  and  a 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


157- 


white  neck-handkerchief.  His  dark  and  shaggy  hair, 
eyebrows,  heated  face  and  very  piercing  jet-black 
eyes  gave  to  his  appearance  a  singularly  wild  and 
striking  expression.  The  sketch  of  him  in  Fraser's 
Magazine  gives  a  true  idea  of  his  dress  and  figure, 
but  his  portraits  fail  to  represent  adequately  his 
remarkably  "  fine  Titian  head,  full  of  dumb  elo- 
quence," as  Hazlitt  described  it.  He  grasped  me 
cordially  by  the  hand,  sat  down,  and  taking  a  bottle 
from  a  cupboard  behind  him,  mixed  some  rum  and 
water.  On  another  occasion  his  sister  objected  to 
this  operation,  and  he  refrained.  Presently  after 
he  said,  "  May  I  have  a  little  drop  now  ?  only  a 
leetle  drop?"  "No,"  said  she;  "be  a  good  boy." 
At  last,  however,  he  prevailed,  and  took  his  usual 
draught.  On  each  visit  (that  of  August  5  having 
been  quickly  succeeded  by  another)  I  found  he 
required  to  be  drawn  into  conversation.  He  would 
throw  out  a  playful  remark,  and  then  pause  awhile. 
He  spoke  by  fits  and  starts,  and  had  a  slight  imped- 
iment in  his  utterance  which  made  liim,  so  to  say, 
grunt  once  or  twice  before  he  began  a  sentence  ; 
but  his  tones  were  loud  and  rich. 

He  told  me  that  he  knew  his  letters  before  he 
could  speak.  .  .  .  He  hated  the  country  and 
loved  to  walk  on  the  London  road,  because  then  he 
would  fancy  that  he  was  wending  thither.' — J.  F. 
RussEL  [Notes  and  Queries,  1882). 

He    delighted    in   children,   and   in   telling  them 


strange,  wild  stories. 


A  daughter  of  Slieri- 


'  For  further  accounts  of  Lamb  at  home,  see  p.  271  et  seq. 


Charles 

Lamb  at 

home. 


158 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Fondness 

for  cliil- 

dren. 


dan  Knowles  used  to  tell  how,  as  a  very  little  girl, 
she  had  been  taken  out  by  Charles  Lamb  for  a  day's 
holiday  to  see  all  the  shows,  and  how  on  meeting  a 
Punch's  show,  they  sat  down  together  on  a  door- 
step and  saw  the  entertainment  through — not  only 
one,  but  a  whole  series,  which  for  him  as  well  as  for 
his  little  companion  seemed  to  have  an  inexhausti- 
ble charm.  .  .  .  Once  too — I  have  heard  on  the 
same  authority — he  saw  a  group  of  hungry  little 
faces  wistfully  looking  into  the  window  of  a  pas- 
try-cook's shop  ;  he  went  in  and  came  out,  and  dis- 
tributed cakes  all  around.  —  Percy  Fitzgerald 
C'  Charles  Lamb,"  etc.).' 


Letters  and 
relics. 


Coleridg^s 

tribute. 


He  never  kept  a  letter  ;  except  a  couple  or  so  : 
and  heartily  despised  "relics,"  especially  of  the  sen- 
timental sort.  Thus,  when  a  traveller  brought  him 
acorns,  from  Virgil's  tomb,  he  amused  himself  with 
throwing  them  at  the  hackney  coachmen  that  passed 
by. — Percy  Fitzgerald  ("Charles  Lamb,"  etc.). 

At  Mr.  Morgan's  house  in  Berners  Street,  I  first 
saw  Charles  Lamb,  who  was  intimate  in  a  literary 
coterie  composed  of  persons  with  principles  very 
opposite  to  those  of  Coleridge,  Somebody,  wish- 
ing to  give  the  latter  a  favorable  impression  of  these 
people,  spoke  of  Lamb's  friendship  for  them  ;  and 
Coleridge  replied,  "  Charles  Lamb's  character  is  a 
sacred  one  with  me  ;  no  associations  that  he  may  form 
can  hurt  the  purity  of  his  mind,  but  it  is  not,  there- 
fore, necessary  that  I  should  see  all  men  with  his 

'  Fitzgerald  (Percy).  Charles  Lamb  :  his  Friends,  his  Haunts, 
and  his  Books.      i2mo.     London,  1866. 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


159 


eyes."  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  of  Lamb 
he  spoke  in  tlie  following  passage  from  the  "Table 
Talk  :  " — "  Nothing  ever  left  a  stain  on  that  gentle 
creature's  mind,  which  looked  upon  the  degraded 
men  and  things  around  him  like  moonshine  on  a 
dunghill,  which  shines  and  takes  no  pollution.  All 
things  are  shadows  to  him,  except  those  which  move 
his  affections." — Charles  R.  Leslie  ("  Autobio- 
graphical Recollections"). 

Hazlitt  has  alluded  con  avwre  to  these  meetings '  in 
his  Essay  "  On  the  Conversation  of  Authors,"  and 
has  reported  one  of  the  most  remarkable  discussions 
which  graced  them  in  his  Essay  "  On  Persons  One 
would  Wish  to  have  Seen."  ...  In  this  was  a 
fine  touch  of  Lamb's  pious  feeling,  breaking  through 
his  fancies  and  his  humors,  which  Hazlitt  has  re- 
corded, but  which  cannot  be  duly  appreciated,  ex- 
cept by  those  who  can  recall  to  memory  the  suffused 
eye  and  quivering  lip  with  which  he  stammered  out 
a  reference  to  the  name  w^hich  he  would  not  utter — 
"  There  is  only  one  other  person  I  can  ever  think  of 
after  this,"  said  he.  "  If  Shakespeare  was  to  come 
into  the  room,  we  should  all  rise  to  meet  him  ;  but 
if  That  Person  were  to  come  into  it,  we  should  all 
fall  down  and  kiss  the  hem  of  his  garment." — 
Thomas  N.  Talfourd  ("  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb  "). 


Coleridge's 
tribute. 


Reverence. 


When  they  left  off  housekeeping  and  went  to  re- 
side at  Enfield,  they  boarded  for  some  time  in  the 
house  of  a  reputable  old  couple,  to  whom  they  paid, 
for  the  plainest  possible  accommodation,  a  price  al- 


lU-requited 
Icindness. 


'  At  Lamb's  chambers  in  Inner  Temple-lane. 


i6o 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


lU-reguited 
kindness. 


A  delicacy 

_foy'  fi  shcep- 

stealer. 


most  sufficient  to  keep  all  the  household  twice  over, 
but  where,  nevertheless,  they  were  expected  to  pay 
for  every  extra  cup  of  tea,  or  any  other  refreshment, 
they  might  offer  to  any  occasional  visitor.  Lamb 
soon  found  out  the  mistake  he  had  made  in  con- 
necting himself  with  these  people,  and  did  not  fail 
to  philosophize  (to  his  friends)  on  their  blind  stu- 
pidity, in  thus  risking  what  was  almost  their  sole 
means  of  support,  in  order  to  screw  an  extra  shilling 
out  of  his  easy  temper.  .  .  .  Yet  this  sort  of 
thing  Lamb  bore  patiently,  month  after  month,  for 
years,  under  the  feeling,  or  rather  on  the  express 
plea  of  "  What  was  to  become  of  the  poor  people  if 
he  left  them  ? "  The  Protectionists  never  pleaded 
harder  for  their  "  vested  rights  "  than  did  Lamb  for 
the  claims  of  these  people  to  continue  to  live  upon 
him,  and  affront  him  every  now  and  then  into  the 
bargain,  because  they  had  been  permitted  to  begin 
to  do  so. — Peter  G.  Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and 
Acquaintance  "). 

When  a  young  lady,  who  was  staying  at  his  house, 
had  been  making  some  clothes  for  the  child  of  a  poor 
gypsy  woman  in  the  neighborhood,  whose  husband 
was  afterward  convicted  of  sheep-stealing,  he  would 
not  allow  her  (the  young  lady)  to  quit  the  village 
without  going  to  see  and  take  leave  of  her  unhappy 
protegee, — on  the  express  plea  that  otherwise  the 
felon's  wife  might  imagine  that  she  had  heard  of 
her  husband's  "  misfortune,"  and  was  ashamed  to  go 
near  her.  "  I  have  a  delicacy  for  a  sheep-stealer," 
said  he.  There  arc  many  who  duly  appreciate 
the  beauty  and  the  merits  of  this  delicacy 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


i6i 


to  the  personal  feelings  of  others,  .  .  .  but  I 
never  knew  any  one  who  was  capable  of  uniformly, 
at  all  costs,  practising  it,  except  Charles  Lamb  and 
William  Hazlitt,^ — both  of  whom  extended  it  to  the 
lowest  and  vilest  of  man  and  woman  kind  ;  would 
give  the  wall  to  a  beggar  if  it  became  a  question 
which  of  the  two  should  cede  it,  and  if  they  had 
visited  a  convicted  felon  in  his  ceil,  would  have  been 
on  tenterhooks  all  the  time,  lest  anything  might 
drop  from  them  to  indicate  that  they  had  less  con- 
sideration for  the  object  of  their  visit  than  if  he  had 
been  the  most  "  respectable  "  of  men. — Peter  G. 
Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 

From  much  that  I  have  said  of  Charles  Lamb  it 
will  have  been  gathered  that  he  was  little  qualified 
to  live  in  what  is  called  "  the  world."  It  may  seem 
paradoxical  to  say  so,  but  he  was  quite  as  little  quali- 
fied to  live  out  of  it.  In  some  sort  wedded  both  to 
solitude  and  to  society,  so  far  from  being  able  to 
make  himself  "  happy  with  either,"  each  was  equally 
incapable  of  filling  and  satisfying  his  affections. 
The  truth  is  that,  deep  and  yet  gentle  as  those  af- 
fections were,  his  daily  life  gave  token  that  in  their 
early  development  they  had  received  a  sinister  bias 
which  never  afterwards  quitted  them — perchance  a 
blow  which  struck  them  from  the  just  centre  on 
which  they  seemed  to  have  been  originally  destined 
to  revolve,  in  a  circle  of  the  most  perfect  beauty  and 
harmony. 

Those  of  Lamb's  friends  who  felt  a  real  and  deep 
interest  in  his  intellectual  character,  and  its  results 
on  his  personal  happiness,  must,  I  think,  have  seen 
III.— II 


A  delicacy 

/or  a  slire^- 

stealer. 


A  charac- 
ter study. 


l62 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Restless- 
ness. 


this  influence  at  work  in  almost  every  movement  of 
his  mind  and  heart,  as  these  developed  themselves 
in  his  ordinary  life  and  conversation  ;  for  in  his  pub- 
lished writings  the  evidences  I  allude  to  do  not  ap- 
pear, at  least  in  any  distinct  and  tangible  form. 
There,  in  short,  and  there  only,  was  Charles  Lamb 
his  own  man — his  early,  natural,  original  self.    .    .    . 

It  would  be  a  task  as  difficult  as  delicate,  to  ad- 
duce detailed  evidence  of  the  peculiar  condition  of 
mind  and  heart,  in  Charles  Lamb,  to  which  I  have 
just  alluded  ;  but  I  think  that  some,  at  least,  of  his 
intimates,  will  call  to  mind  such  evidence,  especi- 
ally in  connection  with  the  last  few  years  of  his 
life.  I  appeal  to  those  intimates  whether  they  ever 
saw  Lamb  wholly  at  his  ease  for  half  an  hour  to- 
gether— wholly  free  from  that  restlessnesss  which  is 
incompatible  with  mental  tranquillity  ;  whether  they 
ever  saw  him  wrapt  in  that  deep  and  calm  repose,  in 
the  absence  of  which  there  can  be  no  actual,  soul- 
felt  satisfaction. 

If,  indeed,  they  have  seen  him  alone  in  his  book- 
room — he  unknowing  of  their  presence — hanging  in 
rapt  sympathy  over  the  tattered  pages  of  one  of  his 
beloved  old  folios  .  .  .  they  may  have  seen  him 
in  a  condition  of  mind  analagous  to  that  self-centred 
repose  which  is  the  soul  of  human  happiness,  but 
not  identical  with  it. 

It  is  not  the  less  true  that  Lamb  was,  for  the 
moment,  delighted  at  the  advent  of  an  unlooked-for 
friend,  even  though  he  was  thereby  interrupted  in 
the  midst  of  one  of  these  beatific  commimings. 
But  they  must  have  read  his  character  ill,  or  with 
little  interest,  who  did  not  perceive  that,  after  the 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


163 


pleasant  excitement  of  the  moment  was  over,  he 
became  restless,  uneasy,  and  "  busied  about  many 
things  "—about  anything  rather  than  the  settling 
down  quietly  into  a  condition  of  mind  or  temper, 
even  analogous  to  that  from  which  the  new  ar- 
rival had  irretrievably  roused  him,  for  that  day  at 
least.  Feeling  the  unseasonable  disturbance  as 
such,  yet  not  for  a  moment  admitting  it  to  be  such, 
even  to  himself,  he  became  (^z'^r-anxious  to  show 
you  how  welcome  you  were, — doing  half  a  dozen 
things  in  a  breath,  to  prove  the  feeling, — every  one 
of  which,  if  read  aright,  proved  something  very  like 
the  reverse.  If  it  happened  to  be  about  dinner- 
time, he  would  go  into  the  kitchen  to  see  if  it  was 
ready,  or  put  on  his  hat  and  go  out  to  order  an  ad- 
ditional supply  of  porter,  or  open  a  bottle  of  wine 
and  pour  some  out, — taking  a  glass  himself  to  set 
you  the  example,  as  he  innocently  imagined, — but, 
in  reality,  to  fortify  himself  for  the  task  of  hospital- 
ity that  you  had  imposed  upon  him  ;  anything,  in 
fact,  but  sit  quietly  down  by  the  fire,  and  enjoy 
your  company,  or  let  you  enjoy  his.  And  if  you 
liappened  to  arrive  when  dinner  or  tea  was  over,  he 
was  perfectly  fidgety,  and  almost  cross,  till  you  were 
fairly  seated  at  the  meal  which  he  and  his  excellent 
sister  insisted  on  providing  for  you,  whether  you 
would  or  not. 

It  is  true  that,  by  the  time  all  these  preliminaries 
were  over,  he  had  recovered  his  ease,  and  was  really 
glad  to  see  you  ;  and  if  you  had  come  to  stay  the 
night,  when  the  shutters  were  shut,  and  the  candles 
came,  and  you  were  comfortably  seated  round  the 
fire,  he  was  evidently  pleased  and  bettered  by  the 


Restless- 
ness. 


Company 

irksotne  to 

hi  in. 


1 64 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Company 

ir/csp!iif  to 

/liin. 


Fotidness 
/or  ani- 
mals. 


occasion  thvis  afforded  for  a  dish  of  cosey  table-talk. 
But  not  the  less  true  is  it  that  every  knock  at  the 
door  sent  a  pang  to  his  heart ;  and  this  without  any 
distinction  of  persons  :  whoever  it  might  be,  he 
equally  welcomed  and  wished  them  away,  and  all 
for  the  same  reason — namely,  that  they  called  him 
from  the  company  of  his  own  thoughts,  or  those 
still  better  communings  with  the  thoughts  of  his 
dead  friends,  with  whom  he  could  hold  an  inter- 
course unclogged  by  any  actual  bodily  presence. — 
Peter  G.  Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaint- 
ance )." 

As  an  instance  of  Charles  Lamb's  sympathy  with 
dumb  beasts,  his  two  friends  here  named  once  saw 
him  get  up  from  table,  while  they  were  dining  with 
him  and  his  sister  at  Enfield,  open  the  street-door, 
and  give  admittance  to  a  stray  donkey  into  the 
front  strip  of  garden,  where  there  was  a  grass-plot, 
which  he  said  seemed  to  possess  more  attraction 
for  the  creature  than  the  short  turf  of  the  common 
on  Chase-side,  opposite  to  the  house  where  the 
Lambs  then  dwelt.  This  mixture  of  the  humorous 
in  manner  and  the  sympathetic  in  feeling  always 
more  or  less  tinged  the  sayings  and  the  doings  of 
beloved  Charles  Lamb  ;  there  was  a  constant  blend- 
ing of  the  overtly  whimsical  expression  or  act  Avith 
betrayed  inner  kindness  and  even  pathos  of  senti- 
ment. Beneath  this  sudden  opening  of  his  gate  to 
a  stray  donkey  that  it  might  feast  on  his  garden 
grass  while  he  himself  ate  his  dinner,  possibly 
lurked  some  stung  sense  of  wanderers  unable  to 
get  a  meal  they  hungered  for  when  others  revelled 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


165 


in  plenty, — a  kind  of  pained  fancy  finding  vent  in 
playful  deed  or  speech,  that  frequently  might  be 
traced  by  those  who  enjoyed  his  society. — C.  and 
M.  C.  Clarke  ("  Recollections  of  Writers  "). 

A  visit  of  Coleridge  was  always  regarded  by 
Lamb,  as  an  opportunity  to  afford  a  rare  gratifica- 
tion to  a  few  friends,  who,  he  knew,  would  prize  it ; 
and  I  well  remember  the  flush  of  prideful  pleasure 
which  came  over  his  face  as  he  would  hurry,  on  his 
way  to  the  India  House,  into  the  office  in  which  I 
was  a  pupil,  and  stammer  out  the  welcome  invita- 
tion for  the  evening.  This  was  true  self-sacrifice  ; 
for  Lamb  would  have  infinitely  preferred  having  his 
inspired  friend  to  himself. — Thomas  N»  Talfourd 
("  Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb  "). 

Charles  Lamb,  William  Hazlitt,  and  Leigh  Hunt, 
formed  a  remarkable  trio  of  men,  each  of  whom 
was  decidedly  different  from  the  others.  Only  one 
of  them  (Hunt)  cared  much  for  praise.  Hazlitt's 
sole  ambition  was  to  sell  his  essays,  which  he  rated 
scarcely  beyond  their  marketable  value  ;  and  Lamb 
saw  enough  of  the  manner  in  which  praise  and  cen- 
sure were  at  that  time  distributed,  to  place  any 
value  on  immediate  success.  Of  posterity  neither 
of  them  thought. 

Leigh  Hunt,  from  temperament,  was  more  alive 
to  pleasant  influences  (sunshine,  freedom  for  work, 
rural  walks,  complimentary  words)  than  the  others. 
Hazlitt  cared  little  for  these  things  ;  a  fierce  argu- 
ment or  a  well-contested  game  at  racketts  was  more 
to  his  taste  ;  whilst  Lamb's  pleasures  (except,  per- 
haps, from  his  pipe)  lay  amongst  the  books  of  the 


Sharins;  a 
treat. 


A  reinnr It- 
able  trio. 


1 66 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


A  remark- 
able trio. 


old  English  writers 


His  soul  delighted  in  com- 
munion with  ancient  generations,  more  especially 
with  men  who  had  been  unjustly  forgotten.  Haz- 
litt's  mind  attached  itself  to  abstract  subjects  ; 
Lamb's  was  more  practical,  and  embraced  men. 
Hunt  was  somewhat  indifferent  to  persons  as  well 
as  to  things,  except  in  the  cases  of  Shelley  and 
Keats,  and  his  own  family  ;  yet  he  liked  poetry  and 
poetical  subjects. 

Hazlitt  (who  was  ordinarily  very  shy)  was  the 
best  talker  of  the  three.  Lamb  said  the  most  pithy 
and  brilliant  things.  Hunt  displayed  the  most  in- 
genuity. All  three  sympathised  often  with  the  same 
persons  or  the  same  books  ;  and  this,  no  doubt, 
cemented  the  intimacy  that  existed  between  them  for 
so  many  years.  Moreover,  each  of  them  understood 
the  others,  and  placed  just  value  on  their  objections 
when  any  difference  of  opinion  (not  infrequent) 
arose  between  them.  Without  being  debaters,  they 
were  accomplished  talkers.  They  did  not  argue  for 
the  sake  of  conquest,  but  to  strip  off  the  mists  and 
perplexities  which  sometimes  obscure  truth.  These 
men — who  lived  long  ago — had  a  great  share  of  my 
regard.  They  were  all  slandered,  chiefly  by  men 
who  knew  little  of  them,  and  nothing  of  their  good 
qualities  ;  or  by  men  who  saw  them  only  through 
the  mist  of  political  or  religious  animosity.  Per- 
haps it  was  partly  for  this  reason  that  they  came 
nearer  to  my  heart. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ('*  Charles 
Lamb  :  a  Memoir"). 

Lamb's  charity  extended  to  all  things,  I  never 
heard   him    speak    spitefully   of   any  author.      He 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


167 


thought  that  every  one  should  have  a  clear  stage, 
unobstructed.  His  heart,  young  at  all  times,  never 
grew  hard  or  callous  during  life.  There  was  always 
in  it  a  tender  spot,  which  Time  was  unable  to  touch. 
He  gave  2i.\vQ.j  greatly,  when  the  amount  of  his  means 
is  taken  into  consideration  ;  he  gave  away  money 
— even  annuities,  I  believe — to  old  impoverished 
friends  whose  wants  were  known  to  him.  I  re- 
member that  once,  when  we  were  sauntering  to- 
gether on  Pentonville  Hill,  and  he  noticed  great 
depression  in  me,  which  he  attributed  to  want  of 
money,  he  said,  suddenly,  in  liis  stammering  way, 
"  My  dear  boy,  I — I  have  a  quantity  of  useless 
things.  I  have  now — in  my  desk,  a — a  hundred 
pounds — that  I  don't — don't  know  what  to  do  with. 
Take  it."  I  was  much  touched  ;  but  I  assured  him 
that  my  depression  did  not  arise  from  want  of 
money. — Bryan  W.  Procter  (''  Charles  Lamb  :  a 
Memoir  "). 

He  used  to  seek  out  occasions  of  devoting  a  part 
of  his  surplus  to  those  of  his  friends  whom  he  be- 
lieved it  would  really  serve,  and  almost  forced  loans, 
or  gifts  in  the  disguise  of  loans,  upon  them.  If  he 
thought  one,  in  such  a  position,  would  be  the  hap- 
pier for  50/.  or  100/.,  he  would  carefully  procure  a 
note  for  the  sum,  and,  perhaps,  for  days  before  he 
-^  might  meet  the  object  of  his  friendly  purpose,  keep 
the  note  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  burning  in  it  to  be 
produced,  and,  when  the  occasion  arrived — ''  in  the 
sweet  of  the  night — "  he  would  crumple  it  up  in  his 
hand  and  stammer  out  his  difficulty  of  disposing  of 
a  little  money  ;  "  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it — 


A  hi'nys 
cliariiabU. 


Benez<o- 
leiue. 


1 68 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


pray  take  it — pray  use  it — you  will  do  me  a  kind- 
ness if  you  will " — he  would  say  ;  and  it  w^as  hard 


Benevo- 
lence. 


to  disoblige  him  ! 

Let  any  one  who  has  been  induced  to  regard 
Lamb  as  a  poor,  slight,  excitable,  and  excited  be- 
ing, consider  that  such  acts  as  these  were  not  in- 
frequent— that  he  exercised  hospitality  of  a  sub- 
stantial kind,  without  stint,  all  his  life — that  he 
spared  no  expense  for  the  comfort  of  his  sister, 
there  only  lavish — and  that  he  died  leaving  sufficient 
to  accomplish  all  his  wishes  for  survivors — and 
think  what  the  sturdy  quality  of  his  goodness  must 
have  been  amidst  all  the  heart-aches,  and  head- 
aches of  his  life — and  ask  the  virtue  which  has 
been  supported  by  strong  nerves,  whether  it  has 
often  produced  any  good  to  match  it  ? — Thomas  N. 
Talfourd  ("  Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb  "). 

As  to  his  kindness  and  practical  benevolence  Mr. 
Ogilvie  *  declared  that  it  could  not  be  overstated. 
His  sympathies  were  so  easily  won  that  he  was 
often  imposed  upon,  yet  he  never  learned  to  be 
suspicious.  He  had  been  known  to  wear  a  coat  six 
months  longer,  that  he  might  spare  a  little  money 
to  some  needy  acquaintance.  There  was  hardly 
ever  a  time  when  he  did  not  have  somebody  living 
upon  him.  If  he  was  freed  from  one  client,  another 
would  soon  arise  to  take  his  place.  A  poor  liter- 
ary aspirant,  or  vagabond,  especially,  he  could  not 
resist,  and  he  regularly  had  one  or  more  on  his 
hands.     He  would   even  take  them  to  his  house, 


1  A  fellow-clerk  of  Lamb's. 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


169 


and  let  them  stay  there  weeks  and  months  together. 
— Joseph  H.  Twichell  {Scribner's  Monthly,  March, 
1876). 

I  knew  Lamb,  and  I  know  certain  cases  in  which 
he  was  concerned — cases  which  it  is  difficult  to 
publish  with  any  regard  to  the  feelings  of  persons 
now  living,  but  which  (if  published  in  all  their  cir- 
cumstances) would  show  him  to  be  the  very  noblest 
of  human  beings.  He  was  a  man  in  a  sense  more 
eminent  than  would  be  conceivable  by  many  people, 
priticely — nothing  short  of  that — in  his  beneficence. 
Many  liberal  people  I  have  known  in  this  world — 
many  who  were  charitable  in  the  widest  sense — 
many  munificent  people,  but  never  any  one  upon 
whom,  for  bounty,  for  indulgence  and  forgiveness, 
for  charitable  construction  of  doubtful  or  mixed 
actions,  and  for  regal  munificence,  you  might  have 
thrown  yourself  with  so  absolute  a  reliance  as  upon 
this  comparatively  poor  Charles  Lamb. — Thomas 
De  Quincev  ("  Literary  Reminiscences  "). 

Her  relapses  were  not  dependent  on  the  seasons  ; 
they  came  in  hot  summers  and  with  the  freezing 
winters.  The  only  remedy  seems  to  have  been  ex- 
treme quiet  when  any  slight  symptom  of  uneasiness 
was  apparent.  Charles  (poor  fellow)  had  to  live, 
day  and  night,  in  the  society  of  a  person  who  was 
— mad  !  If  any  exciting  talk  occurred,  he  had  to 
dismiss  his  friend  with  a  whisper.  If  any  stupor 
or  extraordinary  silence  was  observed,  then  he  had 
to  rouse  her  instantly.  He  has  been  seen  to  take 
the  kettle  from  the  fire  and  place  it  for  a  moment 


Princely 
benejiceuce. 


Constant 

care  of  his 

sister. 


170 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Constant 

carf  py  his 

sister. 


on  her  hccad-dress,  in  order  to  startle  her  into  recol- 
lection. He  lived  in  a  state  of  constant  anxiety  ; 
— and  there  was  no  help. — Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir"). 

The  constant  impendency  of  this  giant  sorrow 
saddened  to  "  the  Lambs  "  even  their  holidays  ;  as 
the  journey  which  they  both  regarded  as  the  relief 
and  charm  of  the  year  was  frequently  followed  by  a 
seizure  ;  and,  when  they  ventured  to  take  it,  a  strait- 
waistcoat,  carefully  packed  by  Miss  Lamb  herself, 
was  their  constant  companion.  Sad  experience,  at 
last,  induced  the  abandonment  of  the  annual  excur- 
sion, and  Lamb  was  contented  with  walks  in  and 
near  London,  during  the  interval  of  labor.  Miss 
Lamb  experienced,  and  full  well  understood,  pre- 
monitory symptoms  of  the  attack,  in  restlessness, 
low  fever,  and  the  inability  to  sleep  ;  and,  as  gently 
as  possible,  prepared  her  brother  for  the  duty  he 
must  soon  perform  ;  and  thus,  unless  he  could  stave 
off  the  terrible  separation  till  Sunday,  obliged  him 
to  ask  leave  of  absence  from  the  office  as  if  for  a 
day's  pleasure — a  bitter  mockery  !  On  one  occasion 
Mr.  Charles  Lloyd  met  them,  slowly  pacing  together 
a  little  footpath  in  Hoxton  fields,  both  weeping  bit- 
terly, and  found  on  joining  them,  that  they  were 
taking  their  solemn  way  to  the  accustomed  Asylum. 
— Thomas  N.  Talfourd  ("  Final  Memorials  of 
Charles  Lamb"). 

On  the  following  night,  according  to  his  promise, 
Mr.  Lamb  honored  us  with  a  visit,  accompanied  by 
his  sister,   Mr.   and  Mrs.  Hood,   and   a  few  others 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


171 


hastily  gathered  together  for  the  occasion.  On  en- 
tering the  room,  Mr.  Lamb  seemed  to  have  forgot- 
ten that  any  previous  introduction  had  taken  place. 
"Allow  me,  madam,"  said  he  "  to  introduce  to  you, 
my  sister  Mary  ;  she's  a  very  good  woman,  but  she 
drinks!"  ''Charles,  Charles,"  said  Miss  Lamb,  im- 
ploringly (her  face  at  the  same  time  covered  with 
blushes),  "  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing  ? "  "  Why," 
rejoined  he,  "you  know  it's  a  fact ;  look  at  the  red- 
ness of  your  face.  Did  I  not  see  you  in  your  cups  at 
nine  o'clock  this  morning  ? "  "  For  shame,  Charles," 
returned  his  sister  ;  "what  will  our  friends  think  ?" 
"  Don't  mind  him,  my  dear  Miss  Lamb,"  said  Mrs. 
Hood,  soothingly ;  "  I  will  answer  that  the  cups 
were  only  breakfast-cups  full  of  coffee." — Mary 
Balmanno  ("  Pen  and  Pencil  ").' 

Of  middle  height,  with  brown,  and  rather  ruddy 
complexion,  gray  eyes  expressive  of  sense  and  shrewd- 
ness, but  neither  large  nor  brilliant ;  his  head  and 
features  well-shaped,  and  the  general  expression  of 
his  countenance  quiet,  kind,  and  observant,  under- 
going rapid  changes  in  conversation,  as  did  his 
manner,  variable  as  an  April  day,  particularly  to  his 
sister,  whose  saint-like  good  humor  and  patience 
were  as  remarkable  as  his  strange  and  whimsical 
modes  of  trying  them.  But  the  brother  and  sister 
perfectly  understood  each  other,  and  "  Charles,"  as 
she  always  called  him,  would  not  have  been  the 
"  Charles  "  of  her  loving  heart  without  the  pranks 
and  oddities  which  he  was  continually  playing  off 


'  Balmanno  (Mary).    Pen  and  Pencil.    8vo.    New  York  :  D.  Ap- 
pleton  &  Co.      1858. 


yoking  at 

Mary's 

expense. 


172 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


Last  hours. 


upon  her — and  which  were  only  outnumbered  by 
the  instances  of  affection,  and  evidences  of  ever 
watchful  solicitude  with  which  he  surrounded  her. 
— Mary  Balmanno  ("Pen  and  Pencil  "). 

On  Friday  evening  Mr.  Ryle,  of  the  India  House, 
.  .  .  called  on  me,  and  informed  me  that  he  was 
in  danger.  I  went  over  to  Edmonton  on  the  fol- 
lowing  morning,  and  found  him  very  weak,  and 
nearly  insensible  to  things  passing  around  him. 
Now  and  then  a  few  words  were  audible,  from 
which  it  seemed  that  his  mind,  in  its  feebleness, 
was  intent  on  kind  and  hospitable  thoughts.  His 
last  correspondent,  Mr.  Childs,  had  sent  a  present 
of  a  turkey,  instead  of  the  suggested  pig  ;  and  the 
broken  sentences  which  could  be  heard,  were  of 
some  meeting  of  friends  to  partake  of  it.  .  .  . 
In  less  than  an  hour  afterwards,  his  voice  gradually 
grew  fainter,  as  he  still  murmured  the  names  of 
Moxon,  Procter,  and  some  other  old  friends,  and 
he  sank  into  death  as  placidly  as  into  sleep. — ■ 
Thomas  N.  Talfourd  ("  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb  "). 


Heroic  life. 


The  fact  that  distinguished  Charles  Lamb  from 
other  men  was  his  entire  devotion  to  one  grand  and 
tender  purpose.  There  is,  probably,  a  romance  in- 
volved in  every  life.  In  his  life  it  exceeded  that  of 
others.  In  gravity,  in  acuteness,  in  his  noble  battle 
with  a  great  calamity,  it  was  beyond  the  rest. 
Neither  pleasure  nor  toil  ever  distracted  him  from 
his  holy  purpose.  Everything  was  made  subser- 
vient to  it.  He  had  an  insane  sister,  who,  in  a 
moment   of    uncontrollable    madness,    had   uncon- 


CHARLES  LAMB. 


173 


sciously  destroyed  her  own  mother  ;  and  to  protect 
and  save  this  sister — a  gentle  woman,  who  had 
watched  like  a  mother  over  his  own  infancy — the 
whole  length  of  his  life  was  devoted.  What  he  en- 
dured, through  the  space  of  nearly  forty  years,  from 
the  incessant  fear  and  frequent  recurrence  of  his 
sister's  insanity,  can  now  only  be  conjectured.  In 
this  constant  and  uncomplaining  endurance,  and  in 
his  steady  adherence  to  a  great  principle  of  conduct, 
his  life  was  heroic. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("  Charles 
Lamb :  a  Memoir  "). 

There  was  no  sadness  assumed  by  the  attendants, 
but  we  all  talked  with  warm  affection  of  dear  Mary 
Lamb,  and  that  most  delightful  of  creatures,  her 
brother  Charles — of  all  the  men  of  genius  I  ever 
knew,  the  one  the  most  intensely  and  universally 
to  be  loved. — Henry Crabb  Robinson  ("Diary,"  etc.). 

No  man,  it  is  my  belief,  was  ever  loved  or  la- 
mented more  sincerely  than  Charles  Lamb. — Bryan 
W.  Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir  "). 


Heroic  life. 


At  Mary 
funeral. 


WILLIAM   HAZLITT. 

1778-1830. 


y 


,    TV^ii^^  j^^^^^^^^^^^I^ 


"i 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTE. 


EAGER  powers,  restlessly  squandering  them- 
selves, for  the  want  of  effectual  discipline  ; 
downright  sincerity  of  thought  and  speech  ;  persist- 
ent adherence  to  convictions  ;  enthusiasm  blazing 
beyond  all  limits  of  discretion  ;  hot  and  vehement 
passions  unsubdued  by  the  dictates  of  judgment  or 
the  mastery  of  a  resolute  will  ;  strong  loves,  and 
bitter  hatreds — such  are  the  impressions  of  char- 
acter which  we  receive  from  the  life  of  Hazlitt. 

His  convictions  had  the  intensity  of  passions, 
and  he  never  surrendered  them.  To  him  men  were 
either  angels  or  demons.  Had  he  been  Hamlet  he 
would  have  known  whether  the  Ghost's  "  intents  " 
were  "wicked  or  charitable,"  whether  he  brought 
with  him  "  airs  from  heaven,  or  blasts  from  hell  ; " 
and  his  mind  once  made  up  that  the  spirit  which  he 
had  seen  was  in  truth  a  devil,  the  testimony  of  all  the 
heavenly  band  of  seraphim  could  not  have  shaken 
him. 

At  one  period  he  was  driven  nearly,  if  not  quite 
insane,  by  his  infatuation  about  a  servant  girl, 
whom  his  vivid  imagination  had  idealized  into  a 
goddess— nay,  rather  into  a  transcendent  creature, 
combining  in  her  own  person  the  attributes  of  all 

III.— 12 


1 78  WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 

the  goddesses.  His  life  was  feverish  and  unhappy. 
How  could  it  have  been  otherwise,  with  a  nature 
open  to  such  hallucinations,  and  subject  to  such 
disastrous  upheavals  ? 

Hazlitt'slife  was  written  by  his  grandson,  William 
Carew  Hazlitt.  This  work  has  no  literary  quality 
higher  than  smartness,  and  is  chiefly  remarkable 
for  its  want  of  decent  reticence  in  regard  to  matters 
which  did  not  need  publicity.  It  is  a  pity  that 
there  is  no  better  biography  of  so  interesting  a  man. 
Alexander  Ireland's  bibliography  of  the  works  of 
Hazlitt  and  Leigh  Hunt,  contains  a  large  amount 
of  information,  gathered  from  the  reports  of  con- 
temporary writers  ;  and  much  interesting  and  valu- 
able matter  will  be  found  in  P.  G.  Patmore's  "  My 
Friends  and  Acquaintance,"  and  Barry  Cornwall's 
"  Recollections  of  Writers." 


LEADING    EVENTS   OF   HAZLITT' S   LIFE. 

1778.  Born,  April  loth,  at  Maidstone,  Kent. 

1783. — (Aged  5.)     Taken  to  the  United  States  of  America  by  his 

parents. 
1786. — (Aged  8.)     Returns  to  England. 

1793. — (Aged  15.)  A  scholar  in  the  Unitarian  College,  Hackney.' 
1802. — (Aged  24.)  An  art  student  in  Paris. 
1805. — (Aged  27.)  Publishes  "  Essay  on  the  Princij^les  of  Pluman 

Action." 
1806. — (Aged  28.)  Publishes  "  Free  Thoughts  on  Public  Affairs." 
1808. — (Aged  30.)  Marries  Miss  Sarah  Stoddart. 
1812. — (Aged  34.)  Lectures  upon  philosophy,  before  the  Russell 

Institute,  London. 

'  Hazlitt  was,  for  the  most  part,  educated  at  home,  by  his  father, 
an  Unitarian  minister. 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT.  179 

lgl4, — (Aged  36.)  Q,ox\\.rCiaViie.i,io\h'ei  Edinburgh  Review.  Theat- 
rical critic  of  ihe  Alornittg  Chronicle. 

1817.— (Aged  39.)  "The  Round  Table"  published,  the  joint 
work  of  Leigh  Hunt  and  himself.  Pub- 
lishes "  Characters  of  Shakespeare's  Plays." 

1818. — (Aged  40.)  Lectures  upon  the  English  poets,  before  the 
Surrey  Institute,  London.  Publishes  "A 
View  of  the  English  Stage." 

1819. — (Aged  41.)  Lectures  upon  the  English  comic  writers,  be- 
fore the  Surrey  Institute,  London. 

1820. — (Aged  42.)  Lectures  upon  the  dramatic  literature  of  the 
age  of  Elizabeth,  before  the  Surrey  Insti- 
tute, London. 

1822. — (Aged  44.)  Divorced  from  his  wife.  Writes  for  The 
Liberal. 

1823. — (Aged  45.)  Publishes  "  Liber  Amoris." 

1824. — (Aged  46.)  Marries  Mrs.  Bridgewater,  a  widow,  and  goes 
abroad  with  her. 

1825. — (Aged  47.)  Separated  from  his  wife.  Returns  to  England. 
Publishes  "  The  Spirit  of  the  Age." 

1828. — (Aged  50.)  Publishes  the  "  Life  of  Napoleon,"  vols,  i 
and  2. 

1830. — (Aged  52  years  and  5  months.)  Publishes  the  "Life  of 
Napoleon,"  vols.  3  and  4,  and  "Conver- 
sations of  James  Northcote."  Dies,  Sep- 
tember 1 8th. 


WILLIAM    HAZLITT. 


THE  accounts  of  Hazlitt's  childhood  show  that 
he  was  an  abnormally  precocious  boy.  When 
he  was  twelve  years  old  he  went  to  Liverpool,  upon 
a  visit  to  some  family  friends,  and  wrote  letters  to 
his  father  containing  curiously  mature  moral  and 
religious  reflections,  and  considerations  of  political 
issues.  All  of  these  boyish  letters  are  remarkable. 
They  are  to  be  found  in  W.  C.  Hazlitt's  "  Memoirs  of 
W.  Hazlitt."  The  following  extract  will  give  an  idea 
of  their  general  character :  "  Saturday  afternoon 
I  .  .  .  went  to  a  Mrs.  Bartton's,  who  appeared 
to  be  an  inhospitable  English  prim  'lady,'  if  such 
she  may  be  called.  She  asked  us,  as  if  she  were 
afraid  we  would  accept  it,  if  we  would  stay  to  tea. 
And  at  the  other  English  person's,  for  I  am  sure  she 
belongs  to  no  other  country  than  to  England,  I  got 
such  a  surfeit  of  their  ceremonial  unsociality,  that 
I  could  not  help  wishing  myself  in  America.  I  had 
rather  people  would  tell  one  to  go  out  of  the  house 
than  ask  one  to  stay,  and,  at  the  same  time,  be  trem- 
bling all  over,  for  fear  one  should  take  a  slice  of 
meat,  or  a  dish  of  tea,  with  them.  Such  as  these  re- 
quire an  Horace  or  a  Shakespeare  to  describe  them." 
A  year  later,  when  he  was  thirteen  years  old,  he 
wrote  a  letter  upon  the  proceedings   against   Dr. 


Precocity. 


l82 


WILLIAM  IIAZLITT. 


Precocity. 


Priestley,  which  was  published  in  the  Shre^vsbury 
Chronicle.  The  style  of  this  composition  is  so  phe- 
nomenal, considering  the  age  of  its  writer,  that  it 
may  be  worth  while  to  give  a  specimen  of  it  : 
"  Religious  persecution  is  the  bane  of  all  religion  ; 
and  the  friends  of  persecution  are  the  worst  ene- 
mies religion  has  ;  and  of  all  persecutions,  that  of 
calumny  is  the  most  intolerable.  Any  other  kind  of 
persecution  can  affect  our  outward  circumstances 
only,  our  properties,  our  lives  ;  but  this  may  affect 
our  characters  for  ever. 

"And  here  I  shall  conclude,  staying  only  to  re- 
mind your  anti-Priestlian  correspondents,  that  when 
they  presume  to  attack  the  character  of  Dr.  Priestley, 
they  do  not  so  much  resemble  the  wren  pecking  at 
the  eagle,  as  the  owl,  attempting  by  the  fiap  of  her 
wings  to  hurl  Mount  Etna  into  the  ocean  ;  and 
that  while  Dr.  Priestley's  name  'shall  flourish  in 
immortal  youth,'  and  his  memory  be  respected  and 
revered  by  posterity,  prejudice  no  longer  blinding 
the  understandings  of  men,  theirs  will  be  forgotten 
in  obscurity,  or  only  remembered  as  the  friends  of 
bigotry  and  persecution,  the  most  odious  of  all  char- 
acters." 

After  this,  it  is  not  surprising  to  learn  that  when 
he  was  fourteen  he  w^rote  an  "  Essay  upon  Laws," 
which  formed  the  germ  of  one  of  his  later  works, 
"  A  Project  for  a  New  Theory  of  Civil  and  Criminal 
Legislation."  Truly,  this  must  have  been  a  decid- 
edly formidable  boy! 

For  depth,  force,  and  variety  of  intellectual  ex- 
pression, a  finer  head  and  face  than   Ilazlitt's  was 


WILLIAM  HAZLIl'T. 


183 


Personal 
appearance. 


never  seen.  I  speak  of  them  when  his  countenance 
was  not  dimmed  and  obscured  by  illness,  or  clouded 
and  deformed  by  those  fearful  indications  of  inter- 
nal passion  which  he  never  even  attempted  to  con- 
ceal. The  expression  of  Hazlitt's  face  when  any- 
thing was  said  in  his  presence  that  seriously  offended 
him,  or  when  any  peculiarly  painful  recollection 
passed  across  his  mind,  was  truly  awful — more  so 
than  can  be  conceived  as  within  the  capacity  of  the 
human  countenance  ;  except,  perhaps,  by  those  who 
have  witnessed  Edmund  Kean's  last  scene  of  "  Sir 
Giles  Overreach  "  from  the  front  row  of  the  pit.  But 
when  he  was  in  good  health,  antl  in  a  tolerable 
humor  with  himself  and  the  world,  his  face  was  more 
truly  and  entirely  answerable  to  the  intellect  that 
spoke  through  it,  than  any  other  I  ever  saw,  either 
in  life  or  on  canvas  ;  and  its  crowning  portion,  the 
brow  and  forehead,  was,  to  my  thinking,  quite  un- 
equaled,  for  mingled  capacity  and  beauty. 

For  those  who  desire  a  more  particular  descrip- 
tion, I  will  add  that  Hazlitt's  features  though  not 
cast  in  any  received  classical  mould,  were  regular  in 
their  formation,  perfectly  consonant  with  each  other, 
and  so  finely  "  chiseled  "  (as  the  phrase  is),  that  they 
produced  a  much  more  prominent  and  striking  ef- 
fect than  their  scale  of  size  might  have  led  one  to 
expect.  The  forehead,  as  I  have  hinted,  was  magnifi- 
cent; the  nose  precisely  that  (combining  strength 
with  lightness  and  elegance)  which  physiognomists 
have  assigned  as  evidence  of  a  fine  and  highly  cul- 
tivated taste  ;  though  there  was  a  peculiar  character 
about  the  nostrils,  like  that  observable  in  those 
of  a  fiery  and  unruly  horse.     The   mouth,  from  its 


1 84 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Personal 
nJ>J>earance. 


ever-changing  form  and  character,  could  scarcely  be 
described,  except  as  to  its  astonishingly  varied  power 
of  expression,  which  was  equal  to,  and  greatly  resem- 
bled, that  of  Edmund  Kean.  His  eyes,  I  should 
say,  were  not  good.  They  were  never  brilliant, 
and  there  was  a  furtive  and  at  times  a  sinister  look 
about  them,  as  they  glanced  suspiciously  from  under 
their  overhanging  brou's,  that  conveyed  a  very  un- 
pleasant impression  to  those  who  did  not  know 
him.  And  they  were  seldom  directed  frankly  and 
fairly  towards  you  ;  as  if  he  were  afraid  that  you 
might  read  in  them  what  was  passing  in  his  mind 
concerning  you.  His  head  was  nobly  formed  and 
placed  ;  with  (until  the  last  few  years  of  his  life)  a 
profusion  of  coal-black  hair,  richly  curled  ;  and  his 
person  was  of  the  middle  height,  rather  slight,  but 
well-formed  and  put  together. 

Yet  all  these  advantages  were  worse  than  thrown 
away,  by  the  strange  and  ungainly  manner  that  at 
times  accompanied  them.  Hazlitt  entered  a  room 
as  if  he  had  been  brought  back  to  it  in  custody  ;  he 
shuffled  sidelong  to  the  nearest  chair,  sat  himself 
down  upon  one  corner  of  it,  dropped  his  hat  and  his 
eyes  upon  the  floor,  and,  after  having  exhausted 
his  stock  of  conventional  small  talk  in  the  words, 
"  It's  a  line  day  "  (whether  it  was  so  or  not),  seemed 
to  resign  himself  moodily  to  his  fate.  And  if  the 
talk  did  not  take  a  turn  that  roused  or  pleased  him, 
thus  he  would  sit,  silent  and  half-absorbed,  for  half 
an  hour,  or  half  a  minute,  as  the  case  might  be,  and 
then  get  up  suddenly,  with  a  "  Well,  good  morning," 
shuffle  back  to  the  door,  and  blunder  his  way  out, 
audibly  muttering  curses  on  his  folly,  for  wittingly 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


185 


putting  himself  in  the  way  of  becoming  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  —  the  servants  !  —  Peter  G.  Patmore 
("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 

In  person  Mr.  Hazlitt  was  of  the  middle  size,  with 
a  handsome  and  eager  countenance,  worn  by  sick- 
ness and  thought ;  and  dark  hair,  which  had  curled 
stiffly  over  the  temples,  and  was  of  late  years 
sprinkled  with  gray.  His  gait  was  slouching  and 
awkward,  and  his  dress  neglected  ;  but  when  he  be- 
gan to  talk,  he  could  not  be  mistaken  for  a  common 
man. — Thomas  N.  Talfourd  ("Thoughts  upon  "VV. 
Hazlitt  ").' 

Hazlitt  was  of  the  middle  size,  with  eager,  expres- 
sive eyes ;  near  which  his  black  hair,  sprinkled 
sparely  with  gray,  curled  round  in  a  wiry,  resolute 
manner.  His  gray  eyes,  not  remarkable  in  color, 
expanded  into  great  expression  when  occasion  de- 
manded it.  Being  very  shy,  however,  they  often 
evaded  your  steadfast  look.  They  never  (as  has 
been  asserted  by  some  one)  had  a  sinister  expres- 
sion ;  but  they  sometimes  flamed  with  indignant 
glances,  when  their  owner  was  moved  to  anger  ; 
like  the  eyes  of  other  angry  men.  .  .  .  His 
mode  of  walking  was  loose,  weak,  and  unsteady ; 
although  his  arms  displayed  strength,  which  he  used 
to  put  forth  when  he  played  at  rackets  with  Martin 
Burney  and  others. — Bryan  W.  Procter  ("Recol- 
lections of  Men  of  Letters  "). 


1  Hazlitt  (William). 
1836. 


Literary  Remains.    2  vols.,  8vo.    London, 


Personal 
appearance. 


1 86 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Personal 
nf-penrance. 


Dress. 


Conversa- 
tion. 


My  first  meeting  with  Mr.  Hazlitt  took  place  at 
the  house  of  Leigh  Hunt,  where  I  met  him  at  sup- 
per. I  expected  to  see  a  severe,  defiant-looking 
being.  I  met  a  grave  man,  diffident,  almost  awk- 
ward in  manner,  whose  appearance  did  not  impress 
me  with  much  respect.  He  had  a  quick,  restless  eye, 
however,  which  opened  eagerly  when  any  good  or 
bright  observation  was  made. — Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Recollections  of  Men  of  Letters  "). 

He  w^as  untidy  in  his  dress  as  a  rule,  and  with 
this  untidiness  went,  as  is  mostly  the  case,  a  prodi- 
gality. .  .  .  He  appeared  to  best  advantage 
when  he  was  attired  for  some  special  occasion.  A 
gentleman  (since  dead)  who  knew  him  well  during 
the  last  thirteen  years  of  his  life,  said  that  he  was 
never  more  astonished  than  when  he  saw  Mr.  Hazlitt 
accoutred  in  readiness  to  go  to  dinneratMr.  Curran's. 
He  wore  a  blue  coat  and  gilt  bvittons,  black  smalls, 
silk  stockings,  and  a  white  cravat,  and  he  looked 
the  gentleman.  But  he  did  not  often  do  himself 
this  justice  ;  the  processes  of  the  toilet  proved  irk- 
some.— William  C.  Hazlitt  ("  Memoir  of  W.  Haz- 
litt "). 

It  has  been  supposed  that  Hazlitt  was  dogmatical 
and  fond  of  controversy,  and  that  he  resented  any 
opposition  to  his  opinions.  This  is  an  error.  He 
liked  discussion — fair,  free  'talk,  upon  subjects  that 
interested  him  ;  but  few  men  ever  yielded  more 
readily  to  argument,  for  few  ever  sought  truth  more 
sincerely.     He  had  no  overweening  sense  of  his  own 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


187 


superiority  ;  indeed,  as  far  as  I  could  perceive,  he  was 
utterly  without  vanity.  ...  In  his  conversation 
he  was  plain,  amusing,  convincing.  There  was  noth- 
ing of  the  ambitious  or  florid  style,  which  is  some- 
times perceptible  in  his  writings.  He  was  rarely  elo- 
quent. Once  or  twice,  when  stung  by  some  pertina- 
cious controversialist,  I  have  known  him  exhibit  elo- 
quent and  impetuous  declamation,  but  in  general  he 
used  the  most  familiar  phrases,  and  made  truth,  rather 
than  triumph,  the  object  of  discussion.  He  enjoyed 
anecdotes  illustrative  of  character,  spoke  pithily 
upon  occasion,  and,  when  in  good  spirits  and  good 
humor,  was  the  most  delightful  gossip  in  the  world  ! 
— Anon.  {New  Moiithly  Magazine,  1830).' 

In  the  company  of  persons  with  whom  he  was 
not  familiar,  his  bashfulness  was  painful ;  but  when 
he  became  entirely  at  ease,  and  entered  on  a  favor- 
ite topic,  no  one's  conversation  was  ever  more  de- 
lightful. He  did  not  talk  for  effect — to  dazzle,  or 
surprise,  or  annoy — but  with  the  most  simple  and 
honest  desire  to  make  his  view  of  the  subject  en- 
tirely apprehended  by  his  hearer.  There  was  some- 
times an  obvious  struggle  to  do  this  to  his  own 
satisfaction  :  he  seemed  laboring  to  drag  his  thought 
to  light  from  its  deep  lurking  place  ;  and,  with 
modest  distrust  of  that  power  of  expression  which 
he  had  found  so  late  in  life,  he  often  betrayed  a 
fear  that  he  had  failed  to  make  himself  understood, 
and  recurred  to  the  subject  again  and  again,  that 
he  might  be  assured  he  had  succeeded. 

'  The  article  from  wliich  the  foregoing  extract  is  made,  is  attrib- 
uted to  Barry  Cornwall. 


Conversa- 
tion. 


i88 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Conversa- 
tion.. 


Manner  of 
speaking. 


In  argument  he  was  candid  and  liberal :  there 
was  nothing  about  him  pragmatical  or  exclusive, 
,  .  .  He  loved  "to  hear  the  chimes  at  midnight," 
without  considering  them  as  a  summons  to  rise. 
At  these  seasons,  when  in  his  happiest  mood,  he 
used  to  dwell  on  the  conversational  powers  of  his 
friends,  and  live  over  again  the  delightful  hours  he 
had  passed  with  them  ;  repeat  the  pregnant  puns 
that  one  had  made  ;  tell  over  again  a  story  with 
which  another  had  convulsed  the  room  ;  or  expand 
in  the  eloquence  of  a  third  ;  always  best  pleased 
when  he  could  detect  some  talent  which  was  unre- 
garded by  the  world,  and  giving  alike,  to  the  cele- 
brated and  the  unknown,  due  honor. — Thomas  N. 
Talfourd  ("  Thoughts  upon  W.  Hazlitt  "). 

I  found  at  the  conclusion  of  the  evening  that 
when  any  question  arose,  the  most  sensible  reply 
always  came  from  him.  Although  the  process  was 
not  too  obvious,  he  always  seemed  to  have  reasoned 
with  himself  before  he  uttered  a  sentence. — Byran 
W.  Procter  ("Recollections  of  Men  of  Letters"). 

He  was  accustomed  to  speak  low,  .  .  .  with 
his  chin  bent  in  and  his  eyes  widely  expanded  ;  and 
his  voice  and  manner,  as  a  rule,  were  apt  to  com- 
municate an  impression  of  querulousness.  His  was 
the  tone  of  a  person  who  related  to  you  a  succession 
of  grievances.  But  when  he  entered  on  a  theme 
which  pleased  or  animated  him,  or  when  he  was  in 
the  presence  of  those  whom  he  knew  well,  and 
trusted,  he  cast  off  a  good  deal  of  this  air,  and  his 
demeanor  was  easy,  yet  impassioned. — William  C 
Hazlitt  ("  Memoir  of  W.  Hazlitt  "). 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


189 


1799. — Another  interesiing  acquaintance  I  made 
at  this  period  was  with  William  Hazlitt — a  man  who 
has  left  a  deservedly  high  reputation  as  a  critic  ; 
but  at  the  time  I  first  knew  him  he  was  struggling 
against  a  great  difficulty  of  expression,  which  ren- 
dered him  by  no  means  a  general  favorite  in  society. 
His  bashfulness,  want  of  words,  slovenliness  of  dress, 
etc.,  made  him  sometimes  the  object  of  ridicule.  It 
will  be  better,  perhaps,  if  I  confine  myself  at  pres- 
ent to  describing  him  as  he  was  at  this  early  period 
of  our  acquaintance.  He  was  the  younger  brother 
of  John  Hazlitt,  the  miniature  painter.  His  first 
design  was  to  be  a  dissenting  minister  ;  and  for 
that  purpose  he  went  to  the  Unitarian  New  College, 
Hackney.  He  afterwards  thought  of  becoming  a 
painter,  and  lived  with  his  brother.  At  our  first  in- 
terview I  saw  that  he  was  an  extraordinary  man. 
He  had  few  friends,  and  was  flattered  by  my  atten- 
tions. ...  At  this  time  he  was  excessively  shy, 
especially  in  the  company  of  young  ladies,  who  on 
their  part  were  very  apt  to  make  fun  of  him.  The 
prettiest  girl  of  our  parties  was  a  Miss  Kitchener, 
and  she  used  to  drive  him  mad  by  teasing  him. — 
Henry  Crabb  Robinson  ("Diary"). 

My  acquaintance  with  William  Hazlitt  com- 
menced before  his  name  emerged  from  the  '*  illus- 
trious obscurity  "  of  that  private  and  local  fame 
which  had  gathered  round  it,  in  the  small  coterie  to 
which  he  had  till  then  addicted  himself.  .  .  . 
My  first  interview  with  him  took  place  in  the  com- 
mittee-room of  a  literary  institution,  of  which  I  was 
at  that  time  one  of  the  managers,  and  had  been  de- 


I  'ou'ig; 

aitiJni'artf, 

and  uii- 


Aivaiting 
sentence. 


igo 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Atvaiting 
sentence. 


puted  by  my  colleagues  to  arrange  with  Hazlitt  re- 
specting the  details  of  a  course  of  lectures.  .  .  . 
Having  been  previously  cautioned  not  to  be  sur- 
prised or  repelled  by  any  "  strangeness "  that  I 
might  observe  in  Hazlitt's  manner  and  personal 
appearance,  I  was  shown  into  the  room  where  he 
was,  by  the  librarian,  who  merely  named  each  to 
the  other,  and  then  left  us  together. 

On  entering,  I  saw  a  pale  anatomy  of  a  man,  sit- 
ting uneasily,  half  on  half  off  a  chair,  with  his  legs 
tucked  awkwardly  underneath  the  rail,  his  hands 
folded  listlessly  on  his  knees,  his  head  drooping  on 
one  side,  and  one  of  his  elbows  leaning  (not  resting) 
on  the  edge  of  the  table  by  which  he  sat,  as  if  in 
fear  of  its  having  no  right  to  be  there.  His  hat  had 
taken  an  odd  position  on  the  floor  beside  him,  as  if 
that,  too,  felt  itself  as  much  out  of  its  element  as 
the  owner. 

He  half  rose  at  my  entrance,  and,  without  speak- 
ing a  word,  or  looking  at  me,  except  with  a  momen- 
tary and  furtive  glance,  he  sat  down  again  in  a  more 
uneasy  position  than  before,  and  seemed  to  wait 
the  result  of  what  I  might  have  to  say  to  him,  with 
the  same  sort  of  desperate  indifference  with  which 
a  culprit  may  be  supposed  to  wait  the  sentence  of 
his  judge,  after  conviction.'  .  .  .  The  picture 
which  Hazlitt  presented  when  I  first  saw  him  in  the 
little  dark,  dungeon-like  committee-room,  . 
was  not  unlike  that  of  Sir  Joshua's  "  Ugolino." 
There  he  sat,  his  anxious  and  highly  intellectual 


'  \V.  C.  Hazlitt  says,  "Leigh  Hunt  used  to  describe  my  grand- 
father's shake  of  the  hand  as  sometliing  like  a  fish  tendering  you 
his  fin." 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


191 


face  looking  upon  vacancy  ;  pale  and  silent  as  a 
ghost ;  emaciated  as  an  anatomy  ;  loose,  unstrung, 
inanimate,  as  a  being  whose  life  is  leaving  it  from 
sheer  emptiness  and  inanition. — Peter  G.  Patmore 
("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 


sentence. 


I  found  Hazlitt  living  in  Milton's  house  (1819), 
the  very  one  where  he  dictated  his  "  Paradise  Lost," 
and  occupying  the  room  where,  tradition  says,  he 
kept  the  organ  on  which  he  loved  to  play.  I  should 
rather  say  Hazlitt  sat  in  it,  for,  excepting  his  table, 
three  chairs,  and  an  old  picture,  this  enormous  room 
was  empty  and  //^occupied.  It  was  white-washed, 
and  all  over  the  walls  he  had  written  in  pencil  short 
scraps  of  brilliant  thoughts  and  phrases,  half-lines 
of  poetry,  references,  etc.,  in  the  nature  of  a  com- 
monplace book.  His  conversation  was  much  of 
the  same  kind,  generally  in  short  sentences,  quick 
and  pointed,  dealing  much  in  allusions,  and  relying 
a  good  deal  on  them  for  success  ;  as,  when  he  said, 
with  apparent  satisfaction,  that  Curran  was  the 
Homer  of  blackguards,  and  afterwards,  when  the 
political  state  of  the  world  came  up,  said  of  the 
Emperor  Alexander,  that  "  he  is  the  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  of  Europe."  On  the  whole,  he  was 
more  amusing  than  interesting,  and  his  nervous 
manner  shows  that  this  must  be  his  character. — 
George  Ticknor  ("  Life,  Letters,  and  Journals  ").' 

Hazlitt  always  wrote  with  the  breakfast  things  on 
the  table  ;  for,  as  I  have  said  before,  they  usually 

1  Ticknor  (George).  Life,  Letters,  and  Journals.  Edited  by 
G.  S.  Hillard  and  Others.     2  vols.,  8vo.     Boston,  1876. 


In  his  ■rnork- 
shop. 


192 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Methods  of 
ivork. 


remained  there  till  he  went  out  at  four  or  five  o'clock 
to  dinner.  He  wrote  rapidly,  in  a  large  hand,  as 
clear  as  print,  made  very  few  corrections,  and  almost 
invariably  wrote  on  an  entire  quire  of  foolscap,  con- 
triving to  put  into  a  page  of  his  manuscript  exactly 
the  amount  (upon  an  average)  of  an  octavo  page  of 
print ;  so  that  he  always  knew  exactly  what  progress 
he  had  made,  at  any  given  time,  towards  the  desired 
goal  to  which  he  was  travelling — namely,  the  end  of 
his  task.  Unless  what  he  was  employed  on  was  a 
review,  he  never  had  a  book  or  paper  of  any  kind 
about  him  while  he  wrote.  In  this  respect  I  imagine 
he  stood  alone  among  professional  authors. 

With  respect  to  Hazlitt's  actual  method  of  com- 
position, he  never,  I  believe,  thought  for  half  an 
hour  beforehand,  as  to  what  he  should  say  on  any 
given  subject  ;  or  even  as  to  the  general  manner  in 
which  he  should  treat  it ;  but  merely,  whether  it  was 
a  subject  on  which  he  had  thought  intently  at  any 
previous  period  of  his  life,  and  whether  it  was  sus- 
ceptible of  a  development  that  was  consistent  with 
the  immediate  object  he  might  have  in  view,  in  sit- 
ting down  to  write  on  it.  Having  determined  on 
these  points,  and  chiefly  on  the  latter,  his  pen  was 
not  merely  the  mechanical,  but  (so  to  speak)  the  in- 
tellectual instrument  by  which  he  called  up  and 
worked  out  his  thoughts,  opinions,  sentiments,  and 
even  the  style  and  language  in  which  he  clothed 
them  :  it  was  the  magician's  wand  with  which  he 
compelled  and  marshaled  to  his  service  the  powers 
of  his  extraordinary  mind,  and  the  stores  of  illustra- 
tive material  which  his  early  life  had  been  spent  in 
accumulating  and  laying  by  for  use  or  pleasure. 


WILLIAM  IIAZLITT. 


193 


He  never  considered  for  more  than  a  few  moments 
beforehand  the  plan  or  conduct  of  any  composition 
that  he  had  undertaken,  or  determined  to  write, 
.  .  .  he  merely  thought  for  a  brief  space  more  or 
less,  till  he  had  hit  upon  an  opening  sentence  that 
pleased  or  satisfied  him  ;  and  when  that  was  achieved, 
he  looked  upon  the  thing  as  done  ;  for  everything 
else  seemed  to  follow  as  a  natural  consequence. 
.  .  .  When  Hazlitt  was  regularly  engaged  on  any 
work  or  article,  he  wrote  at  the  rate  of  from  ten  to 
fifteen  octavo  pages  at  a  sitting  ;  and  never,  or  very 
rarely,  renewed  the  sitting  on  the  same  day.  .  .  . 
Hazlitt  hated  writing,  and  would  never  have  penned 
a  line,  and  indeed  never  did,  till  his  necessities  com- 
pelled him  to  do  so.  To  think  was,  and  ever  had 
been,  the  business  and  the  pleasure  of  his  intellect- 
ual life — though  latterly  it  had  become,  on  many 
topics,  a  fatality  and  a  curse.  But  to  promulgate 
liis  thoughts  to  perverse,  or  incapable,  or  unat- 
tending ears  .  .  .  seemed  to  him  at  best  but  a 
work  of  supererogation.     .     .     . 

The  three  or  four  hours  a  day  employed  .  .  . 
in  com.position  enabled  him  to  produce  an  essay  for 
a  magazine,  one  of  his  most  profound  and  masterly 
Table  Talks,  in  two  or  three  sittings  ;  or  a  long  and 
brilliant  article  of  thirty  or  forty  pages  for  the  "  Ed- 
inburgh Review,"  in  about  a  week.  But  when  he 
had  an  entire  volume  of  work  in  hand  he  invariably 
went  into  the  country  to  execute  it,  and  almost  al- 
ways to  the  same  spot — a  little  way-side  public- 
house,  called  "The  Hut,"  standing  alone,  and  some 
miles  distant  from  any  other  house,  on  Winterslow 
Heath,  a  barren  tract  of  country  on  the  road  to  and 
III.-13 


Methods  0/ 


194 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Methods 
0/  ',uork. 


Facility  in 
composition. 


As  a 
lecturer. 


a  few  miles  from  Salisbury.  There,  ensconced  in  a 
little  wainscoted  parlor,  looking  out  over  the  bare 
heath  to  the  distant  groves  of  Norman  Court,  some 
of  his  finest  essays  were  written  ;  there,  in  utter  sol- 
itude and  silence,  many  of  his  least  unhappy  days 
were  spent  ;  there,  wandering  for  hours  over  the 
bare  heath,  or  through  the  dark  woods  of  the  above- 
named  domain,  his  shattered  frame  always  gained 
temporary  strength  and  renovation. — Peter  G.  Pat- 
more  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 

His  facility  in  composition  was  extreme.  We 
have  seen  him  continue  writing  (when  we  went  to 
see  him  while  he  was  pressed  for  time  to  finish  an 
article)  with  wonderful  ease  and  rapidity  of  pen, 
going  on  as  if  writing  a  mere  ordinary  letter.  His 
usual  manuscript  was  clear  and  imblotted,  indicat- 
ing great  rapidity  and  sureness  in  writing,  as  though 
requiring  no  erasures  or  interlining. — C.  and  M.  C. 
Clarke  ("  Recollections  of  Writers  "). 

January  14,  1812. — Heard  Hazlitt's  first  lecture 
on  the  "  History  of  English  Philosophy."  He  seems 
to  have  no  conception  of  the  difference  between  a 
lecture  and  a  book.  What  he  said  was  sensible  and 
excellent,  but  he  delivered  himself  in  a  low,  monot- 
onous voice,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  MS.,  not 
once  daring  to  look  at  his  audience  ;  and  he  read  so 
rapidly  that  no  one  could  possibly  give  to  the  matter 
the  attention  it  required.  .  .  .  The  cause  of  his 
reading  so  rapidly  was,  that  he  was  told  to  limit 
himself  to  an  liour,  and  what  he  had  prepared  would 
have  taken  three  hours,  if  it  had  been  read  slowly. 
— Henry  Crabb  Robinson  ("  Diary  "). 


WILLIAM  IIAZLITT. 


195 


Hazlitt's  way  of  life  was  as  little  adapted  to  the 
ordinary  course  of  things  in  a  "  regular  "  family,  as 
can  well  be  conceived.  He  always  lived  (during 
the  period  of  my  intimacy  with  him)  in  furnished 
lodgings,  and  those  of  a  very  secondary  class.  .  .  . 
Hazlitt  usually  rose  at  from  one  to  two  o'clock  in 
the  day — scarcely  ever  before  twelve  ;  and  if  he  had 
no  work  in  hand,  he  would  sit  over  his  breakfast  (of 
excessively  strong  black  tea,  and  a  toasted  French 
roll)  till  four  or  five  in  the  afternoon — silent,  motion- 
less, and  self-absorbed,  as  a  Turk  over  his  opium 
pouch  ;  for  tea  served  him  precisely  in  this  capacity. 
It  was  the  only  stimulant  he  ever  took,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  only  luxury  ;  the  delicate  state  of  his 
digestive  organs  prevented  him  from  tasting  any 
fermented  liquors  or  touching  any  food  but  beef  and 
mutton,  or  poultry  and  game,  dressed  with  perfect 
plainness.  He  never  touched  any  but  black  tea, 
and  was  very  particular  about  the  quality  of  that, 
always  using  the  most  expensive  that  could  be  got : 
and  he  used,  when  living  alone,  to  consume  nearly 
a  pound  in  a  week.  A  cup  of  Hazlitt's  tea  (if  you 
happened  to  come  in  for  the  first  brewage  of  it)  was 
a  peculiar  thing  ;  I  have  never  tasted  anything  like 
it.  He  always  made  it  himself,  half  filling  the  tea- 
pot with  tea,  pouring  the  boiling  water  on  it  and 
then  almost  immediately  pouring  it  out,  using  with 
it  a  great  quantity  of  sugar  and  cream. 

To  judge  from  its  occasional  effect  upon  myself, 
I  should  say  that  the  quantity  Hazlitt  drank  of  this 
tea  produced,  ultimately,  a  most  injurious  effect 
upon  him  ;  and  in  all  probability  hastened  his  death 
— which    took  place  from  disease  of  the  digestive 


Irregular 
habits. 


196 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Irregular 
habits. 


Tea  and  the 
theatre. 


The  trials 
0/  absti- 
nence. 


organs.  But  its  immediate  effect  was  agreeable, 
even  to  a  degree  of  fascination  ;  and  not  feeling 
any  subsequent  reaction  from  it,  he  persevered  in 
its  use  to  the  last,  notwithstanding  two  or  three  at- 
tacks, similar  to  that  which  terminated  his  life. — 
Peter  G.  Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaint- 
ance "). 

When  Hazlitt  dined  at  all — which  was  often  not 
more  than  two  or  three  times  a  week— this  meal 
seemed  only  a  sort  of  preliminary  to  his  everlasting 
tea,  for  which  he  returned  home  as  soon  as  he  had 
dined,  and  usually  sat  over  it  for  a  couple  of  hours. 
Afterwards  he  almost  inevitably  passed  two  or  three 
hours  at  one  or  other  of  the  large  theatres,  placing 
himself  as  invariably  in  a  back  corner  seat  of  the 
second  tier  of  boxes,  and,  if  possible,  shrouding 
himself  from  view,  as  if  he  felt  himself  "  a  weed 
that  had  no  business  there,"  in  such  a  scene  of  light, 
gayety,  and  artificial  seem.ing. — Peter  G.  Patmore 
("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 

From  the  time  of  my  first  acquaintance  with  him, 
Hazlitt  had  been  a  determined  water-drinker.  No 
temptation  ever  induced  him  to  transgress  his  rule 
of  life  in  this  respect  ;  the  only  rule  he  ever  pre- 
scribed to  himself,  or  could  have  been  likely  to  keep 
if  he  had.  But  this  rule  had  been  imposed  upon 
him  by  the  moral  certainty  that  his  life  would  be 
the  cost  of  neglecting  it  ;  for,  in  the  early  part  of 
his  literary  career  in  London,  he  had  been  led  into 
an  intemperate  use  of  stimulants,  which  had  at 
length  wholly  destroyed  the   healthful  tone  of  his 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


197 


digestive  organs,  and  made  the  utmost  caution  nec- 
essary to  prevent  those  attacks,  under  one  of  which 
he  died. 

Of  course,  in  our  evening  meetings  at  the  South- 
ampton and  elsewhere,  a  glass  of  grog,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  was  not  wanting  to  give  that  social 
flavor  to  our  table-talk  which  was  one  of  its  most 
pleasant  qualities.  Indeed,  Hazlitt  himself  could 
never  bear  to  see  the  table  wholly  empty  of  some 
emblem  of  that  "taking  one's  ease  at  one's  inn," 
which  was  a  favorite  feeling  and  phrase  with  him  ; 
and  immediately  his  supper-cloth  was  removed  (for 
his  corporeal  enjoyment  on  these  occasions  was  con- 
fined to  the  somewhat  solid  but  brief  one  of  a  pound 
or  so  of  rump-steak  or  cold  roast  beef),  he  used  to 
be  impatient  to  know  what  we  were  each  of  us  go- 
ing to  take  ;  and,  as  each  in  turn  determined  the 
important  point,  he  would  taste  it  with  us  in  imagi- 
nation. It  was  his  frequent  and  almost  habitual 
practice,  the  moment  the  first  glass  was  placed  upon 
the  table  after  supper,  to  take  it  up  as  if  to  carry  it 
to  his  lips,  then  to  stop  a  few  moments  before  it 
reached  them,  and  then  to  smell  the  liquor  and 
draw  in  the  fumes,  as  if  they  were  "  a  rich  distilled 
perfume."  He  would  then  put  the  glass  down 
slowly,  without  uttering  a  word  ;  and  you  might 
sometimes  see  the  tears  start  into  his  eyes,  while  he 
drew  in  his  breath  to  the  uttermost,  and  then  sent 
it  forth  in  a  half  sigh,  half  yawn,  that  seemed  to 
come  from  the  very  depths  of  his  heart.  At  other 
times  he  would  put  the  glass  down  with  a  less  de- 
jected feeling,  and  exclaim  in  a  tone  of  gusto  that 
would  have  done  honor  to  the  most  earnest  of  gas- 


The  trials 
of  absti- 
nence. 


Pa  r  taking 
infancy. 


198 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


tronomes  over  the  last  mouthful  of  his  actual  ortolan, 

"  That's  fine,  by !  "  literally  exhilarating,  and 

almost  intoxicating  himself  with  the  bare  imagina- 


Partakitig 
infancy. 


Improvi- 
dence. 


tion  of  it.  He  used  almost  invariably  to  finish  this 
mov'ement  by  falling  back  into  a  brief  fit  of  dejection, 
as  if  stricken  with  remorse  at  the  irreparable  in- 
jury he  had  committed  against  himself,  in  having, 
by  an  intemperate  abuse  of  a  manifest  good,  forever 
interdicted  himself  from  the  use  of  it  ;  for  no  man 
ever  needed  more  the  judicious  use  of  stimulants, 
or  would,  if  he  could  have  borne  them,  have  found 
more  unmingled  benefit  from  them. — Peter  G.  Pat- 
more  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 

Hazlitt's  judgment  and  tact  as  to  what  would  suit 
the  public  taste  was  such,  that  what  he  wrote  was 
sure  of  certain  sale,  in  various  quarters,  and  at  a 
liberal  price.  So  that  the  labor  of  a  couple  of  morn- 
ings in  the  w'eek,  upon  the  average,  would  have 
amply  supplied  all  his  wants,  had  he  chosen  to  cm- 
ploy  himself  regularly  with  that  view.  Yet  nothing 
could  ever  persuade  him  to  set  to  work  until  his  last 
sovereign  was  gone,  and  his  credit  exhausted  with 
his  landlady  and  his  tavern-keeper ;  and  I  have  re- 
peatedly known  him  to  leave  himself  without  a  half 
crown  to  buy  him  a  dinner,  or  what  was  still  more 
a  necessary  of  life  with  him,  a  quarter  of  a  pound 
of  tea  ;  and  this  at  a  moment,  perhaps,  when  he  had 
just  committed  some  escapade,  in  the  way  of  revenge 
for  some  supposed  injury  or  slight,  which  had  left 
him  without  a  friend  to  whom  he  could  persuade 
himself  to  apply  for  the  loan  of  one. — Peter  G. 
Patmore("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


199 


Hazlitt  at  present  gives  me  great  pain  by  the  folly 
with  which  he  is  conducting  himself.  He  has  fallen 
in  love  to  a  pitch  of  insanity,  with  a  lodging-house 
hussy,  who  will  be  his  death.  He  has  been  to  Scot- 
land and  divorced  his  wife,  although  he  has  a  fine 
little  boy  by  her;  and  after  doing  this,  to  marry  this 
girl,  he  comes  back  and  finds  she  has  been  making 
a  fool  of  him  in  order  to  get  presents,  and  in  reality 
has  been  admitting  a  lover  more  favored.  Hazlitt's 
torture  is  beyond  expression ;  you  may  imagine  it. 
The  girl  really  excited  in  him  a  pure,  devoted,  and 
intense  love.  His  imagination  clothed  her  with  that 
virtue  which  her  affected  modesty  induced  him  to 
believe  in,  and  he  is  really  downright  in  love  with  an 
ideal  perfection,  which  has  no  existence  but  in  his 
own  head  !  He  talks  of  nothing  else  day  and  night. 
He  has  written  down  all  the  conversations  without 
color,  literal  as  they  happened  ;  he  has  preserved 
all  the  love-letters,  many  of  which  are  equal  to  any- 
thing of  the  sort,  and  really  affecting  ;  and  I  be- 
lieve, in  order  to  ease  his  soul  of  this  burden,  means, 
with  certain  arrangements,  to  publish  it  as  a  talc  of 
character.  He  will  sink  into  idiotcy  if  he  does  not 
get  rid  of  it. 

Poor  Hazlitt  !  Fie  who  makes  so  free  with  the 
follies  of  his  friends,  is  of  all  mortals  the  most  open 
to  ridicule.  To  hear  him  repeat  in  a  solemn  tone 
and  with  agitated  mouth  the  things  of  love  he  said 
to  her  (to  convince  you  that  he  made  love  in  the 
true  gallant  way),  to  feel  the  beauty  of  the  senti- 
ment, and  then  look  up  and  see  his  old,  hard, 
weather-beaten,  saturnine,  metaphysical  face — the 
very  antidote  of  the  sentiment — twitching  all  sorts 


An  affair 
ofthe/uart. 


Lovelorn. 


200 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Lovelorn. 


The"- Lib  er 
Atnoris." 


of  ways,  is  really  enough  to  provoke  a  saint  to  laugh- 
ter. He  has  a  notion  that  women  have  never  liked 
him.  Since  this  affair  he  has  dressed  in  the  fashion, 
and  keeps  insinuating  his  improved  appearance. 
He  springs  up  to  show  you  his  pantaloons!  What 
a  being  it  is !  His  conversation  is  now  a  mixture 
of  disappointed  revenge,  passionate  remembrances, 
fiendish  hopes,  and  melting  lamentations. — Benja- 
min R.  Haydon  (from  a  Letter  to  Miss  Mitford,  1822, 
published  in  H.'s  "  Correspondence"). 

There  is  no  doubt  that  his  strong  passions  and 
determined  likings  often  interfered  with  his  better 
reason.  His  admiration  of  Napoleon  would  not 
allow  of  any  qualification.  And  in  the  case  of  the 
heroine  of  the  Liber  Amoris  (Sarah  Walker),  his 
intellect  was  completely  subdued  by  an  insane  pas- 
sion. He  was,  for  a  time,  unable  to  think  or  talk 
of  anything  else.  He  abandoned  criticism  and 
books  as  idle  matters  ;  and  fatigued  every  person 
whom  he  met  by  expressions  of  his  love,  of  her 
deceit,  and  of  his  own  vehement  disappointment. 
.  .  .  Upon  one  occasion  I  knew  that  he  told  the 
story  of  his  attachment  to  five  different  persons  in 
the  same  day,  and  at  each  time  entered  into  minute 
details  of  his  love  story.  "  I  am  a  cursed  fool,"  said 
he  to  me.  "  I  saw  J i?t>ing  into  Will's  Coffee- 
house yesterday  morning  ;  he  spoke  to  me.  I  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  house  ;  and  wliilst  he  lunched 
I  told  him  the  whole  story.  Then  "  (said  he)  "  I 
wandered  into  the  Regent's  Park,  where  I  met  one 

of  M 's  sons.      I   walked  wich   him   some   time, 

and  on  his  using  some  civil  expression,  by  G ! 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


20 1 


sir,  I  told  him  the  whole  story."  (Here  he  men- 
tioned another  instance,  which  I  forget.)  "Well 
sir,"  (he  went  on),  "  I  then  went  and  called  on 
Haydon  ;  but  he  was  out.     There  was  only  his  man, 

Salmon,  there  ;    but,  by  G !  I   could  not  help 

myself.  It  all  came  out ;  the  whole  cursed  story  ! 
Afterwards  I  went  to  look  at  some  lodgings  at 
Pimlico.  The  landlady  at  one  place,  after  some 
explanations  as  to  rent,  etc.,  said  to  me  very  kindly, 
'  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well,  sir  ? ' — '  No,  ma'am,' 
said  I,  '  I  am  not  well  ; '  and  on  inquiring  further, 
the  devil  take  me  if  I  did  not  let  out  the  whole 
story,  from  beginning  to  end  !  "  For  a  time,  I 
think,  that  on  this  point  he  was  substantially  insane  ; 
certainly  beyond  self-control. — Bryan  VV.  Procter 
("Recollections  of  Men  of  Letters  "). 

During  the  first  week  or  fortnight  after  the  ap- 
pearance of  (let  us  suppose)  one  of  "  Blackwood's  " 
articles  about  him,  if  he  entered  a  coffee-house 
where  he  was  known,  to  get  his  dinner,  it  was  im- 
possible (he  thought)  that  the  waiters  could  be 
doing  anything  else  all  the  time  he  was  there,  but 
pointing  him  out  to  other  guests,  as  "  the  gentleman 
who  was  so  abused  last  month  in  '  Blackwood's  Mag- 
azine.' "  If  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  friend,  the 
look  and  reply  of  the  servant  (whatever  they  might 
be)  made  it  evident  to  him  that  he  or  she  had  been 
reading  "  Blackwood's  Magazine"  before  the  family 
were  up  in  the  morning !  If  he  had  occasion  to 
call  at  any  of  the  publishers  for  whom  he  might  be 
writing  at  the  time,  the  case  was  still  worse, — in- 
asmuch that  there  his  bread  was  at  stake,  as  well  as 


The  "Liber 
Amoris." 


Sensith"^- 

ness  ti> 
criticism. 


202 


WILLIAM  IIAZLITT. 


Sensitive- 
ness to 
criticism. 


Fancies 

himself 

ostracized. 


that  personal  civility,  which  he  valued  no  less.  Mr. 
Colburn  would  be  "not  within,"  as  a  matter  of 
course  ;  for  his  clerks  to  even  ascertain  his  pleas- 
ure on  that  point  beforehand  would  be  wholly  su- 
perfluous ;  had  they  not  all  chuckled  over  the  article 
at  their  tea  the  evening  before  ?  Even  the  instinct 
of  the  shopboys  would  catch  the  cue  from  the  sig- 
nificant looks  of  those  above  them,  and  refuse  to 
take  his  name  to  Mr.  Oilier.  They  would  "  believe 
he  was  gone  to  dinner,"  He  could  not,  they  thought, 
want  to  have  anything  to  say  to  a  person  who,  as  it 
were,  went  about  with  a  sheet  of  "  Blackwood's  " 
pinned  to  his  coat-tail  like  a  dish-clout ! 

Then  at  home  at  his  lodgings,  if  the  servant  who 
waited  upon  him  did  not  answer  his  bell  the  first 
time — ah  !  'twas  clear — she  had  read  "Blackwood's," 
or  heard  talk  of  it  at  the  bar  of  the  public-house 
when  she  went  for  the  beer  !  Did  the  landlady 
send  up  his  bill  a  day  earlier  than  usual,  or  ask 
for  payment  of  it  less  civilly  than  was  her  custom 
—how  could  he  wonder  at  it  ?  It  was  "  Black- 
wood's" doing.  But  if  she  gave  him  notice  to  quit 
{on  the  score,  perhaps,  of  his  inordinately  late  hours) 
he  was  a  lost  man!  for  would  anybody  take  him 
in  after  having  read  "  Blackwood's  ? "  Even  the 
strangers  that  he  met  in  the  street  seemed  to  look 
at  him  askance,  "with  jealous  leer  malign,"  as  if 
they  knew  him  by  intuition  for  a  man  on  whom  was 
set  the  double  seal  of  public  and  private  infamy  ; 
the  doomed  and  denounced  of  "  Blackwood's  Mae:- 
azine." 

This  may  seem  like  exaggeration.  .  .  .  But 
.     .     .     it  falls  as  far  short  of  the  truth  as  it  may 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


203 


seem  to  go  beyond  it ;  .  .  .  not  one  of  the  cases 
to  which  I  have  alluded  above,  but  has  been  in  sub- 
stance detailed  to  me  by  Hazlitt  himself,  as  (accord- 
ing to  his  interpretation)  a  simple  matter  of  fact 
result  of  the  attacks  in  question  ! — P.  G.  Patmore 
("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 

In  resolving  to  tell  what  I  know,  or  have  been 
led  to  feel,  of  William  Hazlitt,  I  have  determined 
to  "  nothing  extenuate."  I  at  once,  then,  confess 
that  the  plague-spot  of  his  personal  character  was 
an  ingrained  selfishness,  which  more  or  less  influ- 
enced and  modified  all  the  other  points  of  his  na- 
ture. .  .  .  Let  me  still  further  guard  against 
being  mistaken  by  Hazlitt's  friends  and  misinter- 
preted by  his  enemies.  The  defect  which  I  have 
noticed  in  his  character  was  little  in  amount.  I 
never  knew  him  do  a  base  or  mean  action  ;  and  I 
have  known  him  do  many  that  might  fairly  claim 
to  be  deemed  magnanimous  in  the  ordinary  accep- 
tation of  the  term.  It  w^ould  be  the  basest  of  libels 
upon  Hazlitt  to  describe  him  as  a  mean-souled  man. 
But  the  tendency,  the  taint  was  there  ;  though  it 
seldom  showed  itself  in  overt  acts,  and  never  with- 
out a  sort  of  half-struggle  to  overcome  it  ;  or  in 
default  of  that,  a  half-ostentatious  exposure  of  the 
w^eakness,  as  one  of  which  he  was  not  merely  con- 
scious, but  took  to  himself  more  shame  for  it  than 
his  worst  enemies  would  have  cast  upon  him. — 
Peter  G.  Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaint- 
ance "). 

With  one  class  of  persons — the  professed  literati 
of  the  day — he  tried  to  shine  ;  with  another  class — 


Fancies 

hivtself 

ostracized. 


Sel/iskness. 


204 


WILLIAM  IIAZLITT. 


The  '•  de- 
tnon  "  look. 


the  opposite  of  the  above — he  tried  not  to  shine, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  and  to  seem  not  a  whit 
superior  to  those  about  him.  In  the  company  of 
females,  whoever  they  might  be,  or  of  whatever 
class — even  with  those  few  who  were  uniformly 
kind  and  cordial  in  their  reception  and  treatment 
of  him,  and  of  whose  respect  and  good-will  he 
could  not  reasonably  doubt — there  was  always  ap- 
parent a  dash  of  melancholy  and  despondency ;  and 
also  a  resentful  feeling,  which  showed  itself  from 
time  to  time,  not  in  anything  he  said,  but  in  the 
fearful  expression  which  used  to  pass  across  his 
face,  and  which  he  never  even  attempted  to  sup- 
press or  conceal — an  expression  that  can  only  be 
described  by  saying  that  it  gave  the  look  of  an  in- 
carnate demons  to  a  face  that,  in  the  absence  of 
that  look,  indicated  the  highest  and  noblest  attri- 
butes of  the  human  intellect  and  character.  In 
speaking  of  this  look,  I  may  remark  that,  though 
no  obtnous  cause  was  ever  apparent  for  it,  I  never 
remember  to  have  once  observed  it  without  being 
able  immediately  to  assign  the  cause,  even  thougli 
I  may  inadvertently  have  given  it  myself — for  it 
was  always  something  touching  more  or  less  re- 
motely or  nearly  \.\\q  personal  condition  and  circum- 
stances of  the  man  ;  and  I  might  add,  it  was  almost 
always  connected  with  one  of  three  topics — the 
downfall  of  Napoleon — the  abuse  of  some  deserving 
writer  from  party  motives — and  (in  the  case  where 
females  were  present)  in  reference  to  the  passion  of 
love.  On  each  of  these  topics  there  existed  a  mor- 
bid part  in  Hazlitt's  mind,  whicli  no  one — friend, 
foe,  or  perfect  stranger — could  touch,  or  even  ap- 


WILLIAM  IIAZLITT. 


205 


The  "  dc- 
711011 "  loo/c. 


proach,  without  exciting  a  feeling  of  mingled  agony 
and  resentment,  that  showed  itself  as  I  have  just 
described.  These  topics  were  strings  in  the  noble 
instrument  of  his  mind  which  had  been  so  early 
and  violently  overstrained,  that  nothing  could  ever 
restore  them  to  their  healthful  temperament,  or 
cause  them  to  give  out  tones  capable  of  making 
anything  but  "  harsh  discords,"  or  music  the  pathos 
of  which  was  lost  in  the  pain. — Peter  G.  Patmore 
("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 


In  no  case  whatever  could  Hazlitt's  estimates  of 
persons  be  taken  implicitly  ;  because  it  w^as  impossi- 
ble for  him  to  prevent — and  he  never  for  a  moment 
tried  to  prevent — his  own  intense  personal  feelings 
from  blending  with  and  giving  a  color  to  such  esti- 
mates. And  of  living  persons — of  those  who  came, 
as  it  were,  into  hourly  intellectual  contact  with  him, 
by  breathing  the  same  air  and  treading  on  the  same 
earth — he  could  not  even  form,  much  less  set  forth, 
a  fair  and  unbiased  opinion. — Peter  G.  Patmore 
("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 

I  have  seen  him  more  than  once,  at  the  Fives 
Court  in  St.  Martin's  Street,  on  making  a  bad  stroke 
or  missing  his  ball  at  some  critical  point  of  the 
game,  fling  his  racket  to  the  other  end  of  the  court, 
walk  deliberately  to  the  centre,  with  uplifted  hands 
imprecate  the  most  fearful  curses  on  his  head  for 
his  stupidity,  and  then  rush  to  the  side  wall  and 
literally  dash  his  head  against  it ! — Peter  G.  Pat- 
more ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 


A  faulty 

judge  0/ 

fierso'uil 

character. 


Violence. 


206 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Coiitrndic- 

tions  of 
character. 


It  is  no  less  true  than  it  may  seem  paradoxical, 
that,  with  the  most  social  disposition  of  any  man  I 
ever  met  with,  and  an  active  and  ever  present  sym- 
pathy with  the  claims,  the  wants,  and  the  feelings 
of  every  human  being  he  approached,  Hazlitt  was, 
even  by  nature,  but  by  circumstances  still  more  so, 
a  lone  man,  living,  moving,  and  having  his  being,  for 
and  to  himself  exclusively  ;  as  utterly  cut  off  from 
fulfilling  and  exercising  the  ordinary  pursviits  and 
affections  of  his  kind,  and  of  his  nature,  as  if  he 
had  been  bound  hand  and  foot  in  a  dungeon,  or 
banished  to  a  desert.  And  so,  indeed,  he  was — 
bound  in  the  gloomiest  of  all  dungeons — that  built 
for  us  by  our  own  unbridled  passions — banished  to 
that  dreariest  of  all  deserts,  spread  out  for  us  by 
seared  hopes  and  blighted  affections. — Peter  G. 
Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaintance  "). 


Pcculin  ri- 

ties  of  tern- 

J.cr. 


The  axiom  which  bids  us  ''never  speak  ill  of  a 
man  behind  his  back  "  (as  if  one  might  do  it  with 
propriety  before  his  face  !),  was  not  one  of  those 
ranked  by  Hazlitt  among  the  "  wisdom  of  nations." 
On  the  contrary,  he  spoke  what  he  thought  of  peo- 
ple, everywhere  but  in  their  hearing  ;  trusting  (rath- 
er too  implicitly,  I  am  afraid)  to  that  tacit  com- 
pact which  recognizes  the  sacredness  of  social  inter- 
course. And  he  cared  not  what  you  said  of  him  in 
return,  nor  if  he  heard  your  injurious  estimate  of 
him  repeated  by  half  the  town  ;  or  if  he  sought  to 
make  reprisals,  it  was  on  the  hawker,  not  the  orig- 
inator of  the  affront.  But  a  personal  slight  or  in- 
civility he  held  to  be  the  most  unpardonable  of 
offences,  and  to  be  punished  and  avenged  as  such. 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


207 


You  might  think  and  call  him  a  rascal  or  a  repro- 
bate as  much  as  you  pleased  ;  you  might  "prove" 
him  to  be  a  bad  writer  and  a  worse  man,  with  per- 
fect impunity  ;  but  if  you  looked  askance  upon  him 
in  company,  or  "cut  "him  in  the  street,  or  even 
gave  him  reason  to  fancy  you  had  done  so,  there 
was  ...  no  limit  to  the  revenge  he  would  take 
on  you,  and  no  rest  for  him  till  he  had  taken  it. — 
Peter  G.  Patmore  ("  My  Friends  and  Acquaint- 
ance "). 

Politics  offered  the  one  point  which  acted  on  his 
temper  like  monomania.  It  was  capable  of  chang- 
ing him  from  a  reasonable  being  into  a  wild  beast. 
It  stirred  up  the  bitter  and  rancorous  feelings  that, 
to  the  very  last,  lay  festering  in  his  heart,  and  eating 
into  its  core  like  some  "poisonous  mineral" — de- 
posited there  by  the  events  that  had  terminated  the 
French  Revolution ;  and  those  feelings  were  still 
more  deeply  rooted  by  the  subsequent  downfall  of  his 
idol,  Napoleon,  and  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons. 
I  have  heard  those  who  knew  him  in  his  early  youth 
say,  that  it  was  the  great  events  of  the  French  Rev- 
olution, and  the  new  era  of  thought  and  of  things 
that  they  seemed  to  create  throughout  Europe, 
which  first  called  forth  Hazlitt's  intellectual  facul- 
ties from  that  dreamy  torpor  in  which  they  might 
otherwise  have  lain  for  years  longer,  perhaps  for- 
ever. .  .  .  Had  his  faculties  and  sensibilities 
opened  and  developed  themselves  at  any  other  pe- 
riod, or  under  any  other  political  aspect,  than  tliat 
of  the  first  French  Revolution,  he  might  have  been 
the  yery  model  of  a  wise  and  happy  man.     But  as 


Peculiari- 
ties 0/  tem- 
/>er. 


Injluence  of 
the  Frffic/t 
Revolution. 


208 


WILLIAM  IIAZLITT. 


Influence  of 
the  French 
Kn'olution. 


Irascibility. 


it  was,  his  whole  intellectual  being — his  temper,  af- 
fections, passions,  meditations,  and  pursuits — took 
a  sinister  turn  from  those  events,  which  never  after- 
wards left  it,  or  at  least  which  was  never  afterwards 
absent  when  its  first  exciting  cause  was  recalled 
into  action.  On  all  matters  but  political  ones  Haz- 
litt's  perceptions  were  almost  superhumanly  clear 
and  acute,  and  his  judgment  was  infallible.  But 
about  the  political  prospects,  tendencies  and  events 
of  the  day,  he  was  like  a  child  or  a  woman — either 
utterly  indifferent  to  them,  or,  when  not  so,  regard- 
ing them  in  a  light  directly  opposed  to  the  true  one. 
— Peter  G.  Patmore. — ("My  Friends  and  Acquaint- 
ance "). 

A  friend  of  his  it  was,  a  friend  wishing  to  love 
him,  and  admiring  him  almost  to  extravagance,  who 
told  me,  in  illustration  of  the  dark  sinister  gloom 
which  sat  forever  upon  Hazlitt's  countenance  and 
gestures,  that  involuntarily  when  Hazlitt  put  his 
hand  within  his  waistcoat  (as  a  mere  unconscious 
trick  of  habit),  he  himself  felt  a  sudden  recoil  of 
fear,  as  from  one  who  was  searching  for  a  hidden 
dagger.  Like  "a  Moor  of  Malabar,"  as  described 
in  the  Faery  Queen,  at  intervals  Hazlitt  threw  up 
his  angry  eyes,  and  dark  locks,  as  if  wishing  to  af- 
front tlie  sun,  or  to  search  the  air  for  hostility.  And 
the  same  friend,  on  another  occasion,  described  the 
sort  of  feudal  fidelity  to  his  belligerent  duties,  which 
in  company  seemed  to  animate  Hazlitt,  as  though 
he  were  mounting  guard  on  all  the  citadels  of  ma- 
lignity under  some  sacrameiitum  militaire,  by  the 
following  trait, — that,  if  it  had  happened  to  Hazlitt 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


209 


to  be  called  out  of  the  room,  or  to  be  withdrawn  for 
a  moment  from  the  current  of  the  general  conver- 
sation, by  a  fit  of  abstraction,  or  by  a  private  whis- 
per to  himself  from  some  person  sitting  at  his  elbow, 
always  on  resuming  his  place  as  a  party  to  what 
might  be  called  the  public  business  of  the  company, 
he  looked  round  him  with  a  mixed  air  of  suspicion 
and  defiance,  such  as  seemed  to  challenge  everybody 
by  some  stern  adjuration  into  revealing  whether, 
during  liis  own  absence  or  inattention,  anything  had 
been  said  demanding  condign  punishment  at  his 
hands.  "  Has  any  man  uttered  or  presumed  to  in- 
sinuate," he  seemed  to  insist  upon  knowing,  "during 
this  interregnum^  things  that  I  ought  to  proceed 
against  as  treasonable  to  the  interests  which  I  de- 
fend?"—  Thomas  De  Quincey  ("Essays  on  the 
Poets").' 

His  manners  are  to  ninety-nine  in  one  hundred 
singularly  repulsive  ;  brow-hanging  ;  shoe-contem- 
plating— strange.  .  .  .  He  is,  I  verily  believe, 
kindly  natured  ;  is  very  fond  of,  attentive  to,  and 
patient  with  children  ;  but  he  is  jealous,  gloomy, 
and  of  an  irritable  pride.  With  all  this  there  is 
much  good  in  him.  He  is  disinterested  ;  an  enthu- 
siastic lover  of  the  great  men  who  have  been  before 
us.  He  says  things  that  are  his  own,  in  a  way  of 
his  own. — Samuel  T.  Coleridge  (Extract  from  a 
Letter  quoted  in  Cottle's  "  Reminiscences"). 

While  at  Fonthill  we  walked  over  to  Salisbury  (a 
distance  of  twelve  miles)  in  a  broiling  sunshine  ;  and 


1  De  Quincey  (Thomas).     Essays  on  the  Poets  and  other  Writ- 
ers.    i6mo.     Boston,  1853. 
III.— 14 


Irascibility, 


A  general 
estimate. 


210 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


Walking  in 
the  country. 


I  remember,  on  this  occasion  in  particular,  remarking 
the  extraordinary  pliysical  as  well  as  moral  effect 
produced  on  Hazlitt  by  the  sight  and  feel  of  "  the 
country."  In  London  the  most  inobservant  person 
could  scarcely  pass  him  in  the  street  without  re- 
marking the  extreme  apparent  debility,  almost 
amounting  to  helplessness,  of  his  air  and  manner. 
He  used  to  go  drooping  and  faltering  along,  like  a 
man  just  risen  from  a  bed  of  sickness,  seeming 
scarcely  able  to  support  himself  without  holding  by 
the  railings  or  leaning  against  the  walls  ;  and  invari- 
ably looking  prone  upon  the  ground,  to  which  he 
seemed  ready  to  fall  at  every  step.  But  in  the  coun- 
try, especially  upon  a  vast  plain  or  heath,  like  that 
over  which  our  path  on  the  present  occasion  chiefly 
lay,  he  was  like  a  being  of  another  species  ;  his  step 
firm,  vigorous,  and  rapid  ;  his  look  eager  and  on- 
ward, as  if  devouring  the  way  before  it,  and  his 
whole  air  and  manner  buoyant  and  triumphant,  as 
if  a  new  sense  of  existence,  and  new  bodily  powers 
had  been  breathed  into  him  by  the  objects  around. 

He  spoke  on  this  occasion  of  having  repeatedly 
walked  from  forty  to  fifty  miles  a  day  in  that  fashion 
formerly,  and  said  that  he  could  do  so  now  with 
perfect  ease  and  pleasure.  Yet  in  London  .  .  . 
he  would  sit  as  if  nailed  to  his  chair,  from  morning 
till  late  at  night,  day  after  day,  for  weeks  together — 
merely  creeping  out  to  the  theatre,  or  the  South- 
ampton, at  ten  or  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and  there 
taking  his  seat  silently  again,  and  sitting  till  he  was 
fairly  warned  away  by  the  extinguished  lights  and 
the  closing  doors. — Peter  G.  Patmore  ("My  Friends 
and  Acquaintance"). 


WILLIAM  IIAZLITT. 


211 


was    a 


and  his  love  of  all  good 


His  .  .  .  gastric  weakness 
constant  torment  to  him 
things  in  the  eatable  way  .  .  .  tended  to  aggra- 
vate the  constitutional  tendency  to  his  class  of  dis- 
order. But  it  was  a  way  of  his  to  complain  of  in- 
disposition sometimes,  when  he  called  anpvhere, 
and  the  people  of  the  house  were  not  as  pleasant  as 
usual,  or  something  was  said  which  put  him  out  of 
temper  with  them  and  himself.  It  did  not  signify 
very  much  which  side  was  in  fault,  so  long  as  matters 
went  amiss,  and  he  did  not  happen  to  be  in  the  best 
cue.  A  great  deal  depended  on  the  humor  he  was  in. 
.  .  .  On  such  occasions  as  I  have  alluded  to,  he 
would  get  up,  say  he  was  very  ill,  with  his  chin  in 
and  his  eyes  wide  open,  and  make  the  move  to  go, 
with  a  "  Well,  good-morning." — William  C.  Haz- 
LiTT  ("  Memoir  of  W.  Hazlitt"). 

Like  Dr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Hazlitt  addressed  every 
body  as  Sir.  The  youngest  and  most  intimate  of 
his  friends  was  not  exempt  from  this  rule,  unless 
Mr.  Hazlitt  happened  to  be  in  an  unusually  happy 
and  cordial  humor.  Mr.  C.  H.  Reynell's  sons,  whom 
he  knew  as  well  as  his  own  child,  were  almost  inva- 
riably saluted  in  what  would  now  appear  a  ludi- 
crously formal  manner. — William  C.  Hazlitt  ("Me- 
moir of  W.  Hazlitt "). 

Kenny  told  me  that  John  Lamb  (the  brother  of 
Charles)  once  knocked  down  Hazlitt,  who  was  im- 
pertinent to  him,  and  on  those  who  were  present  in- 
terfering, and  begging  of  Hazlitt  to  shake  hands  and 
forgive  him,  H.  said,  "  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  I  am 


A  way  of 
escaj>e. 


Formality. 


IndiJJ'or- 

ence  to  a 

bloiu. 


212 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


A  trying 
/leculiarity. 


Friendly 
estimates. 


a  metaphysician,  and  do  not  mind  a  blow  ;  nothing 
but  an  idea  hurts  me." — Thomas  Moore  ("Diary"). 

A  visit  to  the  theatre  in  Mr.  Hazlitt's  company 
was  not  always  the  most  comfortable  thing  in  the 
world.  He  had  a  slow  way  of  moving  on  such  oc- 
casions, which,  to  less  habitual  play-goers,  was 
highly  trying.  He  took  my  mother  to  the  play  one 
evening  .  .  .  ;  there  was  a  great  crowd,  but  he 
was  totally  unmoved  by  that  circumstance.  At  the 
head  of  the  staircase  he  had  to  sign  the  Free  Admis- 
sion Book,  and  perfectly  unconscious  that  he  Avas 
creating  a  blockade,  he  looked  up  at  the  attendant 
in  the  middle  of  the  operation — a  rather  lengthy 
one  with  him — and  said,  "What  sort  of  a  house  is 
there  to-night,  sir  ? "  It  was  a  vast  relief  to  his  two 
companions,  my  mother  and  her  elder  sister,  when 
they  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  all  this,  and  were  safe 
in  their  places. — W.  C.  Hazlitt  ("  Memoir  of  W. 
Hazlitt  "). 

I  meet,  at  present,  with  few  persons  who  recollect 
much  of  Hazlitt.  Some  profess  to  have  heard  noth- 
ing of  him  except  his  prejudices  and  violence  ;  but 
his  prejudices  were  few,  and  his  violence  (if  violence 
he  had)  was  of  very  rare  occurrence.  He  was  ex- 
tremely patient,  indeed,  although  earnest  when  dis- 
cussing points  in  politics,  respecting  which  he  held 
very  strong  and  decided  opinions.  But  he  circulated 
his  thoughts  on  many  other  subjects,  whereon  he 
ought  not  to  have  excited  offence  or  opposition. 
.  .  .  Besides  being  an  original  thinker,  Hazlitt 
excelled  in  conversation.     He  was,  moreover,  a  very 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


213 


temperate  liver  :  yet  his  enemies  proclaimed  to  the 
world  that  he  was  wanting  even  in  sobriety.  During 
the  thirteen  years  that  I  knew  him  intimately,  and 
(at  certain  seasons)  saw  him  almost  every  day,  I 
know  that  he  drank  nothing  stronger  than  water  ; 
except  tea,  indeed,  in  which  he  indulged  in  the 
morning.  Had  he  been  as  temperate  in  his  political 
views  as  in  his  cups,  he  would  have  escaped  the 
slander  that  .pursued  him  through  life. — Bryan  W. 
Procter  ("  Charles  Lamb  :  a  Memoir"). 

Under  that  straightforward,  hard-hitting,  direct- 
telling  manner  of  his,  both  in  writing  and  speaking, 
Hazlitt  had  a  depth  of  gentleness — even  tenderness 
— of  feeling  on  certain  subjects  ;  manly  friendship, 
womanly  sympathy,  touched  him  to  the  core  ;  and 
any  token  of  either  would  bring  a  sudden  expression 
into  his  eyes  very  beautiful  as  well  as  very  heart- 
stirring  to  look  upon.  We  have  seen  this  expression 
more  than  once,  and  can  recal  its  appealing  charm, 
its  wonderful  irradiation  of  the  strong  features  and 
squarely-cut,  rugged  under  portion  of  the  face. — C. 
and  M.  C.  Clarke  ("  Recollections  of  Writers"). 

He  was  a  simple,  unselfish  man,  void  of  all  decep- 
tion and  pretence  ;  and  he  had  a  clear,  acute  intel- 
lect, when  not  traversed  by  some  temporary  passion 
or  confused  by  a  strong  prejudice.  .  .  .  He 
hated  pretensions  supported  merely  by  rank  or 
wealth  or  repute,  or  by  the  clamor  of  factions.  And 
he  felt  love  and  hatred  in  an  intense  degree.  But 
he  was  never  dishonest.  He  never  struck  down  the 
weak,  nor  trod  on   the  prostrate.      He   was  never 


Friendly 
estimates. 


214 


WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 


treacherous,  never  tyrannical,  never  cruel. — Bryan 
W.  Procter  ("  Recollections  of  Men  of  Letters  "). 


Friendly 
estimates. 


I  should  belie  my  own  conscience,  if  I  said  less, 
than  that  I  think  W.  H.  to  be,  in  his  natural  and 
healthy  state,  one  of  the  wisest  and  finest  spirits 
breathing.  So  far  from  being  ashamed  of  that  inti- 
macy, which  was  betwixt  us,  it  is  my  boast  that  I 
was  able  for  so  many  years  to  have  preserved  it  en- 
tire ;  and  I  think  I  shall  go  to  my  grave  without 
finding,  or  expecting  to  find  such  a  companion. — 
Charles  Lamb  (Letter  to  Southey,  1823). 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 

1784-1859. 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 


IT  is  hard  to  conceive  of  Leigh  Hunt  as  an  actual 
man,  a  tiesh-and-blood  reality.  He  rather  seems 
the  creation  of  a  brightly  sportive  imagination  ;  a 
pleasant  myth  ;  a  child  of  Cervantes's  brain,  born  in 
some  mood  of  airy  fantasy. 

His  nature  presents  some  very  curious  contradic- 
tions. He  dearly  loved  ease  and  luxury  ;  one  can 
fancy  him  spending  a  long  lifetime  in  the  tranquil 
enjoyment  of  the  beauties  of  nature  and  art.  The 
delicacy  of  his  refinement  was  almost  effeminate. 
And  yet  this  dainty,  fastidious  lover  of  pleasure,  this 
gentle,  luxurious,  whimsical  dreamer  performed  an 
amount  of  work  which  bore  witness  to  a  life  of 
ceaseless  industry,  and  chose  to  suffer  the  hardships 
of  a  prison  rather  than  to  abandon  his  political  prin- 
ciples. Haydon  said  to  him,  "  You  would  have  been 
burnt  at  the  stake  for  a  principle,  and  you  would 
have  feared  to  put  your  foot  in  the  mud." 

What  evil  genius  impelled  him,  of  all  men,  to 
meddle  with  affairs  of  state  ?  No  man  could  be  more 
unfit  for  such  employment.  His  utter  inability  to 
cope  with  the  simplest  practical  details  of  every-day 
life,  must  have  insured  his  failure  as  a  politician. 
It  is  fortunate  that  he  soon  quitted  a  field  in  which 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  succeed. 


2l8  JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 

A  Strange  product  of  English  soil !  Neither  his 
virtues  nor  his  failings  were  those  of  an  Englishman. 
England  was  the  last  nation  of  Europe  which  might 
reasonably  have  been  expected  to  produce  such  a 
man.  He  had  many  of  the  engaging  traits  of  French 
and  Italian  national  character,  and  he  was  a  living 
protest  against  the  most  obnoxious  features  of  John 
Bullism — insularity,  rapacity,  and  stolid  materialism. 

Leigh  Hunt's  "Autobiography  "  is  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  books  of  its  kind.  This,  and  his  corre- 
spondence, have  been  carefully  edited,  with  many 
personal  reminiscences,  by  his  son,  Thornton  Hunt 
There  are  articles  by  Thornton  Hunt,  containing 
recollections  of  his  father,  in  the  Cornhill  Magazine, 
January,  i860,  and  in  ^h.^  Atlantic  Monthly,  February, 
1S63.  See  also  A.  Ireland's  "List  of  the  Writings 
of  W.  Hazlitt  and  Leigh  Hunt;"  Charles  Knight's 
"Passages  from  a  Working  Life  ;"  Hazlitt's  "  Spir- 
it of  the  Age;"  Carlyle's  "Reminiscences;"  and 
F.  H.  Grundy's  "  Pictures  of  the  Past." 

By  far  the  most  satisfying  portraiture  of  Leigh 
Hunt  is  (as  might  be  expected)  the  carefully  elabo- 
rated sketch  by  Hawthorne,  in  "Our  Old  Home." 
This  work  is  thoroughly  pervaded  by  the  rare  and 
subtle  quality  of  its  author's  genius  ;  and  in  this,  and 
in  the  note-books  of  foreign  travel,  there  are  com- 
ments of  great  value  and  suggestiveness  upon  many 
distinguished  characters.  Hawthorne's  description 
of  his  visit  to  the  aged  poet  is  here  reprinted, 
through  the  courtesy  of  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&Co.^ 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


219 


LEADING  EVENTS   OF  LEIGH   HUNT'S  LIFE. 


1784. 

1792, 

1799 

1801 

1805 

1807, 

1808, 

1809, 
1813 

1814 
1815 

1816, 
1817, 

1818, 
1819 

1822 

1825 
1828, 


1832— 

1834.- 

1835- 
1840.- 


-(Aged  8.) 
-(Aged  15.) 
-(Aged  17.) 
-(Aged  21.) 
-(Aged  23.) 

(Aged  24.) 

(Aged  25.) 
■(Aged  29.) 

(Aged  30.) 
(Aged  31.) 

(Aged  32.) 
-(Aged  33.) 

-(Aged  34.) 
(Aged  35.) 

•(Aged  38.) 

(Aged  41.) 
(Aged  44.) 

(Aged  48.) 

(Aged  50.) 
(Aged  51.) 
-(Aged  56.) 

1847.— (Aged  63.) 


Born,  October  19th,  at  Southgate,  Middlesex. 

A  scholar  at  Christ's  Hospital  School. 

Leaves  Christ's  Hospital  School. 

Publishes  "Juvenilia,"  a  volume  of  poems. 

Theatrical  critic  of  The  Neios. 

Publishes  "  Critical  Essays  on  the  Performers 
of  the  London  Theatres." 

A  Clerk  in  the  War  Office.  Establishes  the 
Examiner,  with  his  brother,  John  Hunt. 

Marries  Miss  Marianne  Kent. 

Imprisoned  for  the  publication  of  an  article 
ridiculing  the  Prince  Regent. 

Publishes  "The  Feast  of  the  Poets." 

Liberated  from  prison.  Publishes  "The  De- 
scent of  Liberty  ;  a  Mask." 

Publishes  "  The  Story  of  Rimini." 

Publishes  "  The  Round  Table,"  the  joint  work 
of  himself  and  William  Hazlitt. 

Publishes  "Foliage." 

Publishes  "  Hero  and  Leander,"  and  "Bacchus 
and  Ariadne." 

Arrives  in  Italy.  Co-operates  with  Byron  and 
Shelley  in  the  publication  of  The  Liberal. 

Returns  to  England. 

Publishes  "  Lord  Byron  and  some  of  his  Con- 
temporaries." . 

Prints  "  Christianism,"  for  private  circulation. 
His  poems  are  published  by  subscription. 

Edits  the  Lo}ido7i  Journal. 

Publishes  "  Captain  Sword  and  Captain  Pen." 

"A  Legend  of  Florence"  performed  at  Co- 
vent  Garden  Theatre.  Publishes  "The 
Seer." 

Receives  a  pension  of  two  hundred  pounds  per 
annum. 


220  JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 

1848.— (Aged  64.)  Publishes  "  The  Towm." 

1850. — (Aged  66.)  Pu])lishes  his  "Autobiography." 

1853. — (Aged  69.)  Publishes  "  The  Religion  of  the  Heart." 

1857. — (Aged  73.)  His  wife  dies. 

1859. — (Aged  74  years  and  10  months.)  Dies,  August  28th. 

Note. — For  a  better  view  of  Hunt's  industry,  the  reader  is  re- 
ferred to  Mr.  Alexander  Ireland's  excellent  "List  of  the  Writings 
of  William  Hazlitt  and  Leigh  Hunt."  Svo.  London,  1868.  I  am 
indebted  to  Mr.  Ireland's  careful  and  authoritative  work  for  the 
bibliographic  part  of  the  foregoing  table.  I  have  made  no  record 
of  a  very  large  part  of  Hunt's  writings. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


LIKE  Coleridge  and  Lamb,  he  was  educated  at 
Christ's  Hospital,  .  .  .  and,  like  Lamb, 
he  was  prevented  from  going  to  the  University 
.  .  .  by  an  impediment  in  his  speech,  which, 
however,  he  had  the  better  luck  to  outgrow.  At 
school,  as  afterwards,  he  was  remarkable  for  exu- 
berance of  animal  spirits,  and  for  passionate  attach- 
ment to  his  friends,  but  did  not  evince  any  great 
regard  for  his  studies,  except  when  the  exercises 
were  in  verse.  His  prose  themes  were  so  bad  that 
the  master  used  to  crumple  them  up  in  his  hand, 
and  throw  them  to  the  boys  for  their  amusement. — 
Samuel  C.  Hall  ("  Book  of  Memories  "). 

He  was  tall  rather  than  otherwise, — five  feet  ten 
inches  and  a  half  when  measured  for  the  St.  James' 
Volunteers  ;  though  in  common  with  men  whose 
length  is  in  the  body  rather  than  the  legs,  his  height 
diminished  as  he  advanced  in  life.  He  was  remark- 
ably straight  and  upright  in  his  carriage,  with  a 
short,  firm  step,  and  a  cheerful,  almost  dashing  ap- 
proach,— smiling,  breathing,  and  making  his  voice 
heard  in  little  inarticulate  ejaculations  as  he  met  a 
friend,   in  an  irrepressible  satisfaction   at   the  en- 


School  life. 


Personal 
appearance. 


222 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Personal 
appearance. 


counter  that  not  unfrequently  conveyed  high  grati- 
fication to  the  arriver  who  was  thus  greeted.  He 
had  straight  black  hair,  which  he  wore  parted  in 
the  centre  ;  a  dark  but  not  pale  complexion  ;  feat- 
ures compounded  between  length  and  a  certain 
irregularity  of  outline,  characteristic  of  the  Ameri- 
can mould  ;  black  eyebrows,  firmly  marking  the 
edge  of  a  brow  over  which  was  a  singularly  upright, 
flat,  white  forehead,  and  under  which  beamed  a  pair 
of  eyes  dark,  brilliant,  reflecting,  gay,  and  kind,  with 
a  certain  look  of  observant  humor,  that  suggested 
an  idea  of  what  is  called  slyness  when  it  is  applied 
to  children  or  girls.  .  .  .  He  had  a  head  mas- 
sive and  tall,  and  larger  than  most  men's — Byron, 
Shelley,  and  Keats  wore  hats  which  he  could  not 
put  on  ;  but  it  was  not  out  of  proportion  to  the 
figure,  its  outlines  being  peculiarly  smooth,  and  de- 
void of  "bumps."  His  upper  lip  was  long,  his 
mouth  large  and  hard  in  the  flesh  ;  his  chin  retreat- 
ing and  gentle  like  a  woman's.  His  sloping  shoul- 
ders, not  very  wide,  almost  concealed  the  ample 
proportions  of  his  chest ;  though  that  was  of  a  com- 
pass which  not  every  pair  of  arms  could  span. — 
Thornton  Hunt  {Cornhill  Magazine,  January,  i860). 

He  was  rather  tall,  as  straight  as  an  arrow,  and 
looked  slenderer  than  he  really  was.  His  hair  was 
black  and  shining,  and  slightly  inclined  to  wave  ; 
his  head  was  high,  his  forehead  straight  and  white, 
his  eyes  black  and  sparkling,  his  general  complexion 
dark.  There  was  in  his  whole  carriage  and  manner 
an  extraordinary  degree  of  life. — Thornton  Hunt 
(Introduction  to  L.  H.'s  "Autobiography,"  i860). 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


223 


Hunt  was  a  little  above  the  middle  size,  tliin  and 
lithe.  His  countenance  was  very  genial  and  pleas- 
ant. His  hair  was  black  ;  his  eyes  were  very  dark, 
but  he  was  short-sighted,  and  therefore  perhaps  it 
was  that  they  had  nothing  of  that  fierce  glance 
which  black  eyes  so  frequently  possess.  His  mouth 
was  expressive  but  protruding. — Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Recollections  of  Men  of  Letters  "). 

He  was  tall,  but  slightly  formed,  quiet  and  con- 
templative in  gait  and  manner,  yet  apparently  af- 
fected by  momentary  impulse  ;  his  countenance 
brisk  and  animated,  receiving  its  expression  chiefly 
from  dark  and  brilliant  eyes,  but  supplying  un- 
equivocal evidence  of  that  mixed  blood  which  he 
derived  from  the  parent  stock,  to  which  his  friend 
Hazlitt  alluded  in  reference  to  his  flow  of  animal 
spirits  as  well  as  to  his  descent,  "he  had  tropical 
blood  in  his  veins."  ' — Samuel  C.  Hall  (**  Book  of 
Memories  "). 

Slim,  and  perfectly  upright ;  his  handsome,  pale, 
oval  face  almost  without  a  wrinkle  ;  his  long  white 
locks  falling  to  his  shoulders,  over  those  immense 
shirt  collars,  which,  had  they  been  but  starched, 
would  have  ended  his  days  long  before  by  cutting 
his  throat.  He  was  a  perfect  picture  of  sensitive 
refinement.  I  see  him  striding  backwards  and  for- 
wards up  and  down  his  ''old  Court  suburb  "  study, 
his  dressing-gown,  although  'tis  evening,  flying  out 
behind  him,  dictating  his  flowing  periods  (it  was 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  then)  to  his  too  willing  facto- 

'  Several  of  his  ancestors  were  from  the  West  Indies. 


Personal 
appcantiice. 


224 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Personal 
appearance. 


turn,  amanuensis,  friend,  son,  and  servant  Vincent. 
— Francis  H.  Grundy  ("  Pictures  of  the  Past").' 

When  I  saw  him  last  he  was  yielding  to  the 
universal  conqueror.  His  loose  and  straggling 
white  hair  thinly  scattered  over  a  brow  of  manly 
intelligence  ;  his  eyes  dimmed  somewhat,  but  re- 
taining that  peculiar  gentleness  yet  brilliancy  which 
in  his  youth  was  likened  to  those  of  a  gazelle  ;  his 
earnest  heart  and  vigorous  mind  out-speaking  yet, 
in  sentences  eloquent  and  impressive. — Samuel  C. 
Hall  ("  Book  of  Memories  "). 

I  well  remember  the  last  time  I  saw  him  at  Ham- 
mersmith, not  long  before  his  death  in  1859,  when, 
with  his  delicate,  worn,  but  keenly  intellectual  face, 
his  large  luminous  eyes,  his  thick  shock  of  v/iry 
grey  hair,  and  a  little  cape  of  faded  black  silk  over 
his  shoulders,  he  looked  like  an  old  French  abbe. — 
John  Forster  ("  Life  of  Dickens  ").^ 

I  found  Leigh  Hunt  living  in  a  pleasant  little 
cottage  at  Hammersmith  (1S59).  .  .  .  On  en- 
tering the  little  parlor,  used  as  a  "study,"'  a  tall 
figure,  dressed  in  a  morning  gown,  with  a  large 
cape,  came  forward  and  grasped  my  hand  with 
a  sort  of  feminine  tenderness  and  enthusiasm. 
.  .  .  Leigh  Hunt  is  now  nearly  eighty  years  of 
age  ;  and  yet  his  complexion  has  the  fairness  and 
freshness  of  youth.      His  hair  is  as  white  as  the 

'  Crundy  (Francis  H.).     Pictures  of  the  Past.     London,  1879. 
'  Forster    (John).     Life   of   Cliarles    Dickens,       3   vols.,    8vo. 
London,   1872-74. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


225 


bloom  of  the  almond  tree,  and  as  full  and  glossy  as 
the  head  of  a  child.  His  brow  is  broad  and  beauti- 
ful, and  his  eye  as  gentle  and  as  clear  as  that  of  a 
woman  who  has  never  seen  a  cloudy  day.  His  heart 
is  as  merry  as  a  bird's,  and  his  look  and  manner 
alternately  playful  and  pensive,  but  without  a 
shadow  of  sadness.' — Hiram  Fuller  ("  Sparks  from 
a  Locomotive  ")." 

In  his  boyhood  he  had  an  impediment  in  his 
speech,  which  was  assumed  to  be  incurable  ;  though 
it  seems  to  have  rapidly  diminished  in  his  inter- 
course with  the  world,  and  to  have  left  none  but  the 
very  slightest  traces. — Thornton  Hunt  ("Corre- 
spondence of  L.  H.").^ 

Unfailing  spirits  made  the  great  charm  of  his 
conversation.  The  stream  flowed  gently  on,  always 
clear,  often  sparkling.  His  vivacity  frequently  ap- 
proached to  wit,  and  if  there  were  the  slightest 
touch  of  satire  in  his  opinions  of  books  or  men,  it 
was  so  subtle  and  delicate  that  it  was  more  like  the 
fencing  with  foils  of  Congreve's  fine  gentlemen, 
than  the  sword  thrusts  of  one  who  in  his  time  was 
foremost  in  the  lists  of  bold  public  writers. — Charles 
Knight  (**  Passages  of  a  Working  Life  ").* 


'  For  a  further  account  of  Leigh  Hunt's  appearance,  see  Haw- 
thorne's description,  p.  252. 

^  Fuller    (Hiram).       Sparks  from  a  Locomotive  ;    or,  Life  and 
Liberty  in  Europe.     i2mo.     New  York,  1859. 

^  Hunt  (James  Henry  Leigh).      Correspondence.      Edited  by  his 
eldest  Son.     2  vols.,  i2mo.     London,  1862. 

^  Knight  (Charles).     Passages  of  a  Working  Life  during  Half  a 
Century.     3  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1864-65. 
111.-15 


Persoval 
appearance. 


Stuju^ner- 


Coiwersa- 
tian. 


226 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Conversa- 
tion, 


During  an  intimacy  of  many  (forty)  years,  I 
never  beard  him  utter  an  oath,  although  they  were 
then  very  common  ;  and  I  never  heard  from  him  an 
indelicate  hint  or  allusion. — Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Recollections  of  Men  of  Letters"). 

In  a  letter  to  Southey  Lamb  says  of  Hunt,  "  He 
is  one  of  the  most  cordial-minded  men  I  ever  knew, 
and  matchless  as  a  fireside  companion."  He  also 
speaks  of  his  having  an  "air  of  mild  dogmatism," 
a  "condescending  to  a  boyish  sportiveness,"  in  his 
conversation. 

Few  men  were  more  attractive  "in  society," 
whether  in  a  large  company  or  over  the  fireside. 
His  manners  were  peculiarly  animated  ;  his  conver- 
sation, varied,  ranging  over  a  great  field  of  subjects, 
was  moved  and  called  forth  by  the  response  of  his 
companion,  be  that  companion  philosopher  or  stu- 
dent, sage  or  boy,  man  or  woman  ;  and  he  was 
equally  ready  for  the  most  lively  topics  or  for  the 
gravest  reflections — his  expression  easily  adapting 
itself  to  the  tone  of  his  companion's  mind.  With 
much  freedom  of  manners,  he  combined  a  spon- 
taneous courtesy  that  never  failed,  and  a  considerate- 
ness  derived  from  a  ceaseless  kindness  of  heart  that 
invariably  fascinated  even  strangers. — Thornton 
Hunt  (Introduction  to  L.  H.'s  "Autobiography"). 

In  private  intercourse  Leigh  Hunt  was  at  first 
timid  and  reserved,  almost  to  shyness — not  from  any 
mental  awkwardness,  but  because  of  later  years  he 
never  had  robust  health.  Meeting  strangers  was  al- 
ways a  kind  of  trial  to  him,  though  always  ready  to 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


227 


receive  any  with  any  claim  on  his  attention.  His 
conversation,  at  first  broken  and  tentative,  required 
but  the  full  consciousness  of  sympathetic  auditors 
and  interlocutors.  .  .  .  Not  that  Leigh  Hunt 
was  witty  nor  in  any  absolute  sense  humorous,  but 
that  when  animated  he  said  everything  happily,  and 
could  give  a  quaint,  curious  turn  to  the  most  com- 
monplace conversation.  There  was  never  a  man 
who  more  needed  loving  hands  and  voices  around 
him  ;  and  it  is  a  happiness  to  think  that  he  never 
wanted  them.  It  was  joyous  to  see  how,  when  si- 
lent and  depressed — for  physical  delicacy  affected 
his  spirits, — he  would  brighten  up  at  the  pressure  of 
a  friendly  hand,  would  answer  readily  to  a  cheery 
voice,  and  would  share  in  any  talk — the  chit  chat  of 
the  day,  the  nonsense  of  the  hour — with  a  zest  which 
showed  that  his  heart  beat  strongest  in  response  to 
human  love. — Anon.  {Athenceum,  September  3, 1859). 

Leigh  Hunt's  conversation  was  simply  perfection. 
If  he  were  in  argument — however  warm  it  might  be 
— he  wouldwait  patiently  to  hear  "  the  other  side." 
Unlike  most  eager  conversers,  he  never  interrupted. 
Even  to  the  youngest  among  his  colloquists  he  al- 
ways gave  full  attention,  and  listened  with  an  air  of 
genuine  respect  to  whatever  they  might  have  to  ad- 
duce in  support  of  their  view  of  a  question.  He  was 
peculiarly  encouraging  to  young  aspirants,  whether 
fledgling  authors  or  callow  casuists  ;  and  treated 
them  with  nothing  of  condescension,  or  affable  ac- 
commodation of  his  intellect  to  theirs,  or  amicable 
tolerance  for  their  comparative  incapacity,  but,  as  it 
were,  placed  them  at  once  on  a  handsome  footing 


Conversa- 
tion. 


228 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


CoHTersa- 
tion. 


Reading 
aloud. 


of  equality  and  complete  level  with  himself.  When, 
as  was  frequently  the  case,  he  found  himself  left 
master  of  the  field  of  talk  by  his  delighted  hearers, 
onlv  too  glad  to  have  him  recount  in  his  own  felici- 
tous way  one  of  his  "  good  stories,"  or  utter  some  of 
his  "good  things,"  he  would  go  on  in  a  strain  of 
sparkle,  brilliancy,  and  freshness  like  a  sun-lit 
stream  in  a  spring  meadow.  Melodious  in  tone,  al- 
luring in  accent,  eloquent  in  choice  of  words,  Leigh 
Hunt's  talk  was  as  delicious  to  listen  to  as  rarest 
music.  .  .  .  He  used  more  effusion  of  utterance, 
more  mutation  of  voice,  and  more  energy  of  ges- 
ture, than  is  common  to  most  Englishmen  when 
under  the  excitement  of  recounting  a  comic  story  ; 
and  this  produced  corresponding  excitement  in  his 
hearers,  so  that  the  "  success  "  of  his  good  stories 
was  unfailing,  and  the  laughter  that  followed  him 
throughout  was  worked  to  a  climax  at  the  close. — 
Mary  Cowden  Clarke  ("  Recollections  of  Writers"). 

Leigh  Hunt's  reading  was  pre-eminently  good. 
Varied  in  tone  and  inflection  of  voice,  unstudied, 
natural,  characteristic,  full  of  a  keen  sense  of  the 
humor  of  the  scenes  and  the  wit  of  the  dialogue,  his 
dramatic  reading  was  almost  unequalled  :  and  we 
can  remember  his  perusal  of  the  Sir  Anthony  Abso- 
lute scenes  in  Sheridan's  "  Rivals,"  and  Foote's  farce 
of  *'  The  Liar,"  as  pieces  of  uproarious  merriment. 
Even  Dowton  himself — and  his  acted  impersonation 
of  Sir  Anthony  was  a  piece  of  wonderful  truth  for 
towering  wrath  and  irrational  fury — hardly  sur- 
passed Leigh  Hunt's  reading  of  the  part,  so  mas- 
terly a  rendering  was  it  of  old-gentlemanly  wilful- 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


22^ 


ness,  and  comedy- father  whirlwind  of  raging  tyranny. 
— C.  and  M.  C.  Clarke  ("  Recollections  of  Writers  "). 

He  improves  upon  acquaintance.  The  author 
translates  admirably  into  the  man.  Indeed  the  very 
faults  of  his  style  are  virtues  in  the  individual. 
His  natural  gayety  and  sprightliness  of  manner,  his 
high  animal  spirits,  and  the  vinous  quality  of  his 
mind,  produce  an  immediate  fascination  and  intoxi- 
cation in  those  who  come  in  contact  with  him,  and 
carry  off  in  society  whatever  in  his  writings  may 
to  some  seem  fiat  and  impertinent.  From  great 
sanguineness  of  temper,  from  great  quickness  and 
unsuspecting  simplicity,  he  runs  on  to  the  public  as 
he  does  at  his  own  fireside,  and  talks  about  himself, 
forgetting  that  he  is  not  always  among  friends. 
His  look,  his  tone  are  required  to  point  many  things 
that  he  says  :  his  frank  cordial  manner  reconciles  you 
instantly  to  a  little  over-bearing,  over-weening  self- 
complacency.  "  To  be  admired  he  needs  but  to 
be  seen  : "  but  perhaps  he  ought  to  be  seen  to  be 
fully  appreciated.     .     .     , 

We  have  said  that  Lord  Byron  is  a  sublime  cox- 
comb :  why  should  we  not  say  that  Mr.  Hunt  is  a 
delightful  one  ?  There  is  certainly  an  exuberance 
of  satisfaction  in  his  manner  which  is  more  than 
the  strict  logical  premises  warrant,  and  which  dull 
and  phlegmatic  constitutions  know  nothing  of,  and 
cannot  understand  till  they  see  it.  .  .  .  He  sits 
at  the  head  of  a  party  with  great  gayety  and  grace  ; 
has  an  elegant  manner  and  turn  of  features  ;  has 
continual  sportive  sallies  of  wit  or  fancy  ;  tells  a 
story  capitally  ;  mimics  an  actor  or  an  acquaintance 


Social 
traits. 


230 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Social 
traits. 


Musical 
faculty. 


to  admiration  ;  laughs  with  great  glee  and  good  hu- 
mor at  his  own  and  other  people's  jokes  ;  under- 
stands the  point  of  an  equivoque  or  an  observation  im- 
mediately ;  has  a  taste  for,  and  a  knowledge  of  books, 
of  music,  of  medals  ;  manages  an  argument  adroitly  ; 
is  genteel  and  gallant ;  and  has  a  set  of  by-phrases 
and  quiet  allusions  always  at  hand  to  produce  a 
laugh.' — William  Hazlitt  (**  Spirit  of  the  Age  "). 

Nature  had  gifted  him  with  an  intense  dramatic 
perception,  an  exquisite  ear  for  music,  and  a  voice 
of  extraordinary  compass,  power,  flexibility,  and 
beauty.  It  extended  from  the  C  below  the  line  to 
the  F  sharp  above  :  there  were  no  "  passages  "  that 
he  could  not  execute  ;  the  quality  was  sweet,  clear, 
and  ringing  :  he  would  equally  have  sung  the  mu- 
sic of  Don  Giovanni  or  Sarasiro,  or  Oroveso  or  Mao- 
metto  Secondo.  Yet  nature  had  not  endow^ed  him 
with  some  of  the  qualities  needed  for  the  practical 
musician, — he  had  no  aptitude  for  mechanical  con- 
trivance, but  faint  enjoyment  of  power  for  its  own 
sake.  He  dabbled  on  the  pianoforte  ;  delighted  to 
repeat  airs  pleasing  or  plaintive  ;  and  if  he  would 
occasionally  fling  himself  into  the  audacious  revels 
of  Don  Giovanni,  he  preferred  to  be  Lindoro  or  Don 
Ottavio  ;  and  still  more,  by  the  help  of  his  falsetto,  to 
dally  with  the  tender  treble  of  the  Countess  xwFii^-aro 
or  Polly  in  Beggar's  Opera.  This  waiving  of  the 
potential,  this  preference  for  the  lightsome  and 
tender,  ran  through  all  his  character, — save  when 
duty  bade  him  draw  upon  his  sterner  resources  ; 
and  then  out  came  the   inflexibility  of  the  Shewell 

'  See  Hawthorne's  account  of  Hunt's  conversation,  p.  256  et  seq. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


231 


and  the  unyielding  determination  of  the  Hunts. 
But  as  soon  as  the  occasion  passed,  tlie  manner 
passed  with  it ;  and  the  man  whose  solemn,  clear- 
voiced  indignation  had  made  the  very  floor  and 
walls  vibrate  was  seen  tenderly  and  blandly  exten- 
uating the  error  of  his  persecutor  and  gayly  confess- 
ing to  a  community  of  mistake. — Thornton  Hunt 
{^Cornhiil  Magazine,  i^nxx'a.r J,  i860). 

I  was  first  introduced  to  Leigh  Hunt  at  a  party, 
when  I  remember  he  sang  a  clieery  sea-song  with 
much  spirit  in  that  sweet,  small  baritone  voice 
which  he  possessed.  His  manner — fascinating,  ani- 
mated, full  of  cordial  amenity,  and  winning  to  a 
degree  of  which  I  have  never  seen  the  parallel — 
tlrew  me  to  him  at  once,  and  I  fell  as  pronely  in 
love  with  him  as  any  girl  in  her  teens  falls  in  love 
with  her  first-seen  Romeo. — Mary  Cowden  Clarke 
("Recollections  of  Writers  "), 

His  comparative  estimates  of  authors  were  per- 
haps sometimes  at  fault.  He  liked  Milton  more, 
and  Spenser  far  more,  than  Shakespeare,  I  never 
saw  a  volume  of  that  greatest  of  dramatists  and 
poets  in  his  house  ;  but  the  beloved  Spenser  was  al- 
ways there,  close  at  hand,  for  quotation  or  refer- 
ence.— Bryan  VV.  Procter  ("  Recollections  of  Men 
of  Letters  "). 

His  memory  was  marvellous  ;  and  to  try  him  in 
history,  biography,  bibliography,  or  topography, 
was  to  draw  forth  an  oral  "  article  "  on  the  topic  in 
question.  Ask  him  where  was  the  Ouse,  and  he 
would  tell  you  of  all  the  rivers  so  called  ;  what  were 


Firmness, 


A  girts  en- 
thusiasm. 


Literary 
taste. 


Memory. 


232 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Memory. 


Industry. 


Absorbed  in 
liti'rature. 


the  books  on  a  given  subject,  and  you  had  the  list. 
.  .  .  His  conversation  was  an  exhaustless  O^'r/t'i-- 
ities  of  Literature.  The  delighted  visitor  read  his 
host, — but  it  was  from  a  talking  book,  with  cordial 
voice  naturally  pitched  to  every  change  of  subject, 
animated  gesture,  sparkling  eyes,  and  overflowing 
sympathy. — Thornton  Hunt  {Cornhill  Magazine, 
January,  i860). 

One  characteristic  of  Leigh  Hunt,  for  which  few 
gave  him  credit,  was  his  great  capacity  for  work. 
His  writings  were  the  result  of  immense  labor  and 
painstaking,  of  the  most  conscientious  investigation 
of  facts,  where  facts  were  needed  ;  and  of  a  complete 
devotion  of  his  faculties  towards  the  object  to  be  ac- 
complished. Notwithstanding  his  great  experience; 
he  was  never  a  very  rapid  writer.  He  corrected, 
excised,  reconsidered,  and  elaborated  his  productions 
(unless  Avhen  pressed  for  time),  with  the  most  mi- 
nute attention  to  details. — E.  O.  [Edmund  Oilier  ?] 
{Spectator,  September  3,  1859). 

His  w^hole  existence  and  his  habit  of  mind,  were 
essentially  literary.  If  it  were  possible  to  form  any 
computation  of  the  hours  which  he  expended 
severally  in  literary  labor  and  in  recreation,  after 
the  manner  of  statistical  comparisons,  it  would  be 
found  that  the  largest  portion  of  his  hours  was  de- 
voted to  hard  work  in  the  seclusion  of  the  study,  and 
that  by  far  the  larger  portion  of  the  allotted  "  recre- 
ation "  was  devoted  to  reading,  either  in  the  study 
or  in  the  society  of  his  family. — Thornton  Hunt 
(Introduction  to  L.  H.'s  "Autobiography"). 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


233 


Those  who  knew  him  best  will  picture  him  to 
themselves  clothed  in  a  dressing  gown,  and  bend- 
ing his  head  over  a  book  or  over  the  desk.  At 
some  periods  of  his  life  he  rose  early,  in  order  that 
he  might  get  to  work  early,  .  .  .  for  the  most 
part,  however,  he  habitually  came  down  "  too  late  " 
for  breakfast,  and  was  no  sooner  seated  sideways  at 
the  table  than  he  began  to  read.  After  breakfast 
he  repaired  to  his  study,  where  he  remained  until 
he  went  out  to  take  his  walk.  He  sometimes  read 
at  dinner,  though  not  always.  At  some  periods  of 
his  life  he  would  sleep  after  dinner  ;  but  usually 
he  retired  from  the  table  to  read.  He  read  at  tea- 
time,  and  all  the  evening  read  or  wrote. — Thornton 
Hunt  (Introduction  to  L.  H.'s  "Autobiography"). 

There  was  surely  never  a  man  of  so  sunny  a  na- 
ture, who  could  draw  so  much  pleasure  from  com- 
mon things,  or  to  whom  books  were  a  world  so  real, 
so  exhaustless,  so  delightful.  I  was  only  seventeen 
when  I  derived  from  him  the  tastes  which  have  been 
the  solace  of  all  subsequent  years. — John  Forster 
("Life  of  Dickens"). 

He  was  very  good-tempered  ;  thoroughly  easy 
tempered.  He  saw  hosts  of  writers,  of  less  ability 
than  himself,  outstripping  him  on  the  road  to  future 
success,  yet  I  never  heard  from  him  a  word  that 
could  be  constrvied  into  jealousy  or  envy  ;  not  even 
a  murmur. — Byran  W.  Procter  ("  Recollections  of 
Men  of  Letters"). 

Leigh  Hunt's  whole  teaching  of  himself  as  well  as 
others,  inculcated  a  perception  of  cheerfulness  as  a 


A  bsorbed  in 
literature. 


Sunny  na- 
ture— Free 
frojn  envy. 


234 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


A   teacher 

oj  cheerful- 

ttess. 


Love  pf 
trutli. 


Kindly 
judgment 
of  his  con- 
tempora- 
ries. 


duty,  not  for  the  selfish  gain  of  the  one  man  himself, 
but  for  the  sake  of  making  the  happier  atmosphere 
for  others,  and  of  rendering  the  more  perfect  hom- 
age to  the  Author  of  all  good  and  happiness.  .  .  . 
The  sense  of  existence  was  to  him  a  ceaseless  per- 
ception of  the  beauty  lanfolded  in  the  universe. — 
Thornton  Hunt  ("  Correspondence  of  L.  H.") 

In  one  of  his  letters  to  me  he  writes  : — "  I  would 
rather  be  considered  a  hearty  loving  nature  than 
anything  else  in  the  world,  and  if  I  love  truth,  as  I 
do,  it  is  because  I  love  an  apple  to  be  thought  an 
apple,  and  a  hand  a  hand,  and  the  whole  beauty  and 
hopefulness  of  God's  creation  a  truth  instead  of  a 
lie."  He  was  justified  in  saying  of  himself  that  he 
had  "  two  good  qualities  to  set  off  against  many 
defects— that  he  was  not  vindictive  and  spoke  the 
truth." — Samuel  C.  Hall  ("Book  of  Memories"). 

All  his  "  notes  "  concerning  his  contemporaries  (I 
have  some  of  them  still)  were  genial,  cordial,  and 
laudatory,  affording  no  evidence  of  envy,  no  taint 
of  depreciation.  .  .  .  Thisgenerosity  of  thought 
and  heart  is  conspicuous  in  all  his  writings.  ,  .  . 
He  who  might  have  said  so  many  bitter  things, 
utters  scarcely  one  ;  he  who  might  have  galled  his 
enemies  to  the  quick,  docs  not  stab  even  in  thought.' 
— Samuel  C.  Hall  ("  Book  of  Memories  "). 

'  One  exception  must  be  noted — liis  book  upon  Lord  Byron 
and  some  of  his  Contemporaries.  This  was  manifestly  written  in 
a  very  bitter  spirit,  and,  in  his  old  age,  Hunt  expressed  regret  for 
liaving  published  it. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


235 


He  was  held  up  to  shame  as  an  enemy  of  religion, 
whereas  he  was  a  man  from  whose  heart  there  came 
a  flowing  piety  spreading  itself  over  all  nature  and 
in  every  channel  in  which  it  was  possible  to  run. 
I  remember  a  passage  in  one  of  his  writings  in 
which  he  says  he  never  passed  a  church,  of  however 
unreformed  a  faith,  without  an  instinctive  wish  to 
go  in  and  worship  for  the  good  of  mankind.  And 
all  this  obloquy,  all  this  injustice,  all  this  social 
cruelty  never  for  one  moment  soured  the  disposi- 
tion or  excited  a  revengeful  feeling  in  the  breast  of 
this  good  man. 

He  had  as  it  were — I  have  no  other  phrase  for  it 
— a  superstition  of  good.  He  did  not  believe  in  the 
existence  of  evil,  and  when  it  pressed  against  him, 
in  the  bitterest  form  against  himself,  he  shut  his 
eyes  to  it.  .  .  .  We  know  that  through  all  the 
difficulties  of  a  more  than  usually  hard  life  he  kept 
to  the  end  a  cheerfulness  of  temper  which  the  most 
successful  might  have  envied. — Lord  Houghton 
(from  an  Address  delivered  in  1869). 

Whenever  and  wherever  I  met  this  charming 
person,  I  learned  a  lesson  of  gentleness  and  pa- 
tience ;  for,  steeped  to  the  lips  in  poverty  as  he 
was,  he  was  ever  the  most  cheerful,  the  most  genial 
companion  and  friend.  He  never  left  his  good- 
nature outside  the  family  circle,  as  a  Mussulman 
leaves  his  slippers  outside  a  mosque,  but  he  always 
brought  a  smiling  face   into  the  house   with  him. 

T A ,  whose  fine  floating  wit  has  never  yet 

quite  condensed  itself  into  a  star,  said  one  day  of  a 
Boston  man,  that  he  was  "east-wind  made  flesh." 


"  A  xufier- 

sti'ion  of 

good." 


Genial, 

despite 
poverty. 


236 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Genial^ 

despite 

pm'erty. 


Religious 
views. 


F.ujoyinent 
o/  nature. 


Leigh  Hunt  was  exactly  the  opposite  of  this ;  he 
was  compact  of  all  the  spicy  breezes  that  blow.  In 
his  bare  cottage  at  Hammersmith  the  temperament 
of  his  fine  spirit  heaped  up  such  riches  of  fancy  that 
kings,  if  wise  ones,  might  envy  his  magic  power. — 
James  T.  Fields  ("  Old  Acquaintance  ").' 

His  religion  (which  he  styles,  in  a  letter  to  me, 
.  .  .  "a  sort  of  luxurious  natural  piety")  was 
cheerful,  liopeful,  sympathising,  universal  in  its 
benevolence,  and  entirely  comprehensive  in  charity, 
but  it  was  not  the  religion  of  the  Christian.  .  .  . 
He  recognized  Christ,  indeed,  but  classes  him  only 
among  those — not  even  foremost  of  them — who  were 
lights  in  dark  ages  ;  .  .  .  Confucius,  Socrates, 
Epictetus,  Antoninus.  Jesus  was  their  "  martyred 
brother,"  nothing  more. — Samuel  C.  Hall  ('*  Book 
of  Memories"). 

He  was  fond  of  writing  and  talking  about  the 
country,  but  knew  little  of  its  flora  and  fauna 
beyond  some  dozen  of  flowers  and  half  a  dozen 
birds.  A  few  flowers  in  a  glass  of  water  on  his 
writing-table  was  to  him  a  garden,  and  a  "look-out" 
upon  a  distant  green  field  was  his  country  life.  The 
rest  was  an  imaginary  Italy.  I  once  heard  him  dis- 
course while  standing  in  front  of  a  bed  of  winter 
cabbages  covered  with  a  sparkling  hoar-frost,  as 
though  it  was  Nature's  jewelry  of  emeralds  and  dia- 
monds set  in  frosted  silver  ;  and  assuredly  I  have 
read  something  of  a  similar  kind  in  one  of  his  es- 

'  Fields  (James  T.).  Old  Acquaintance:  Barry  Cornwall  and 
some  of  his  Friends.     32mo.     Boston  :  J.  R.  Osgood  &  Co.    1876. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


237 


says.  But  I  have  been  recently  reminded  by  Lord 
Houghton  of  a  far  more  striking  instance  of  a  de- 
gree of  simplicity  that  could  not  perceive  there  was 
anything  ludicrous  in  its  grave  counsels,  when  ear- 
nestly exhorting  a  poor  man,  if  he  could  not  afford 
to  buy  flowers,  to  take  home  a  handful  of  grass  to 
his  wife,  so  that  they  might  contemplate  Nature  by 
that  means. — Richard  H,  Horne  ("Mrs.  Browning's 
Letters").' 

Though  Leigh  Hunt  is  not  deep  in  knowledge, 
moral,  metaphysical,  or  classical,  yet  he  is  intense 
in  feeling,  and  has  an  intellect  forever  on  the  alert. 
He  is  like  one  of  those  instruments  on  three  legs, 
which,  throw  it  how  you  will,  always  pitches  on 
two,  and  has  a  spike  sticking  forever  up  and  ever 
ready  for  you.  He  "sets  "  at  a  subject  with  a  scent 
like  a  pointer.  He  is  a  remarkable  man,  and  created 
a  sensation  by  his  independence,  his  courage,  his 
disinterestedness  in  public  matters.  .  .  .  As  a 
man,  I  know  none  with  such  an  affectionate  heart, 
if  never  opposed  in  his  opinions.  He  has  defects, 
of  course  ;  one  of  his  great  defects  is  getting  inferior 
people  about  him  to  listen,  too  fond  of  shining 
at  any  expense  in  society,  and  a  love  of  approba- 
tion from  the  darling  sex,  bordering  upon  weak- 
ness. 

He  is  a  man  of  sensibility  tinged  with  morbidity, 
and  of  such  sensitive  organization  of  body,  that  the 

'  Browning  (Elizabeth  Barrett).  Letters  addressed  to  R.  H. 
Home.  Edited  by  S.  R.  T.  Mayer.  2  vols.,  8vo.  London, 
1877.  (This  voliune  also  contains  reminiscences  of  contemporaries, 
by  R.  H.  Home. ) 


Knjoyment 
of  nature. 


Mental 
alertness — 
Superseiisi- 

tiveness. 


238 


JAMKS  HEXRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Mental 
alertness — 
Su/>ersensi- 

tivefiess. 


A  favorite 
luxury. 


His  esti- 
mate of 
praise. 


JCccentrici- 

ties  as  to 

food. 


plant  is  not  more  alive  to  touch  than  he.  I  remem- 
ber once,  walking  in  a  field,  we  came  to  a  muddy 
place  concealed  by  the  grass.  The  moment  Hunt 
touched  it,  he  shrank  back,  saying,  "  It's  muddy  !  " 
as  if  he  meant  that  it  was  full  of  adders. — Benjamin 
R.  Haydon  (Extract  from  a  I^etter  to  Wilkie,  pub- 
lished in  Haydon's  Correspondence). 

He  liked  ...  to  sit  in  a  large  and  very  easy 
chair  he  had,  wrapped  in  his  dressing-gown,  sur- 
rounded by  attentive  yoimg  ladies  who  adored  him  ; 
one  or  more  of  them — I  have  seen  two — gently 
smoothing  his  long  locks  in  most  irritating  fashion 
to  others  sometimes,  whilst  all  hung  upon  his  flow- 
ing periods,  sparkling  with  that  graceful  wit  and 
airiness  for  which  he  was  so  famous.' — Francis  H. 
Grundy  ("  Pictures  of  the  Past  "). 

He  accepted  praise  less  as  a  mark  of  respect  from 
others,  than  as  a  delight  of  which  all  are  entitled  to 
partake,  such  as  spring  weather,  the  scent  of  flow- 
ers,^ or  the  flavor  of  wine. —  Bryan  W.  Procter 
("  Recollections  of  Men  of  Letters  "). 

His  most  remarkable  piece  of  oddity  was  in  his 
eating,  especially  his  suppers.  He  "would  take  a 
fancy,"  and  indulge  freely  night  after  night  in  a 
thoroughly  indigestible  supper  of  anything  which 
accident   or   circumstance    might    have    suggested, 

'  Mr.  Grundy  writes  of  Leigh  Hunt's  old  age. 

'  An  anonymous  writer  in  the  Dublin  University  Magazine,  No- 
vember, 1861,  says,  in  an  article  entitled  "Leigh  Hunt's  last 
Evening  at  Home,"  that  Hunt  had  no  sense  of  smell,  and  quotes 
Hunt's  own  statement  that  such  was  the  fact. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT, 


239 


from  corned  beef  to  Welsh  rarebit  or  Scotch  por- 
ridge, recommending  it  eagerly  as  the  most  whole- 
some of  eatable  things  ;  then  after  a  week  or  so  of 
indulgence,  he  would  have  brought  on  a  fit  of  in- 
digestion, upon  whicli  he  would  abuse  the  innocent, 
if  indigestible,  cause  of  his  illness,  "  up  hill  and 
down  dale."  When  better  he  would  adopt  some- 
thing else,  with  similar  "  praise,  blame,  and  result." 

The  following  interviews  are  given  as  nearly  ver- 
batim as  I  can  remember  tliem  after  this  lapse  of 
time.  Call  the  time  Wednesday  evening  at  nine 
P.M.  Scene,  the  drawing-room  at  Kensington  ; 
Leigh  Hunt  seated  by  himself  at  table  ;  on  table, 
white  cloth  and  tray  ;  on  the  tray,  three  eggs  boiled 
hard,  salt,  butter,  pepper,  and  bread.  Leigh  Hunt 
loq.  :  "  Ha,  how  are  you  ?  I  am  eating  my  supper, 
you  see.  Do  you  eat  supper  ?  If  you  do,  take  my 
advice,  and  have  regularly  every  night,  at  half-past 
nine  precisely,  three  eggs  boiled  hard,  with  bread 
and  butter.  I  have  had  them  now  every  evening 
for  five  nights,  and  there  is  not,  I  assure  you,  any- 
thing more  wholesome  for  supper.  One  sleeps  so 
soundly,  too,"  etc. 

Next  scene,  Friday,  time  and  circumstances  as 
before,  save  that  the  condiment  under  present  con- 
sideration is  a  Welsh  rarebit,  with  mustard,  etc.  I 
enter.  Hunt  to  me  :  "  Ha,  how  are  you  ?  Have 
you  seen  Vincent  ?  I  am  just  getting  supper,  you 
see.  Do  you  ever  eat  supper  ?  If  you  do,  I  pray 
you,  never  take  boiled  eggs  ;  they  are,  without  any 
exception,  the  most  indigestible,  nightmare-produc- 
ing, etc.  They  have  nearly  killed  me.  No  ;  the 
lightest  and  most  palatable  supper  I  have  ever  taken 


Eccentrici- 
ties as  to 
food. 


240 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Eccentrici- 
ties as  to 
food. 


Whims 
about  exer- 
cises. 


I.  nek  of 
business 
ability. 


is  a  Welsh  rarebit  with  Scotch  ale.  This  is  the 
second  day  I  have  taken  it,  and  I  do  assure  you," 
etc.  On  Monday  next  it  would  be  liver  and  bacon. 
His  longest  love  in  my  time  was  his  old  love,  dried 
fruit,  bread,  and  water — his  Italian  memory. — Fran- 
cis H.  Grundy  ("  Pictures  of  the  Past  "). 

He  was  curiously  eccentric  even  Avhen  in  his  best 
moods.  He  would  take  his  exact  number  of  con- 
stitutional strides  backwards  and  forwards  at  exactly 
the  same  hour  daily  :  so  many  made  a  mile,  and  not 
one  more  or  less  would  he  take  or  give  ;  another 
turn  would  have  been  destruction. — Francis  H. 
Grundy  ("  Pictures  of  the  Past  "). 

I  had  never  attended,  not  only  to  the  business 
part  of  the  Examiner.,  but  to  the  simplest  money 
matter  that  stared  at  me  on  the  face  of  it.  I  could 
never  tell  any  body  who  asked  me,  what  Avas  the 
price  of  its  stamp  !  Do  I  boast  of  this  ignorance  ? 
Alas  !  I  have  no  such  respect  for  the  pedantry  of 
absurdity  as  that.  I  blush  for  it ;  and  I  only  record 
it  out  of  a  sheer  painful  movement  of  conscience,  as 
a  warning  to  those  young  authors  who  might  be  led 
to  look  upon  such  folly  as  a  fine  thing  ;  which  at  all 
events  is  what  I  never  thought  it  myself.  I  did  not 
think  about  it  at  all,  except  to  avoid  the  thought :  and 
I  only  wish  that  the  strangest  accidents  of  education, 
and  the  most  inconsiderate  habit  of  taking  books  for 
the  only  ends  of  life,  had  not  conspired  to  make  me 
so  ridiculous. — Leigh  Hunt  ("Autobiography"). 

It  was  no  affectation  when  he  declared  himself 
entirely  incompetent  to  deal  with  the  simplest  ques- 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


241 


tion  of  arithmetic.  The  very  commonest  sum  was  a 
bewilderment  to  him.  ...  It  was  a  born  inca- 
pacity, similar  to  that  of  people  who  cannot  distin- 
guish the  notes  of  music  or  the  colors  of  the  prism. 
.  .  .  He  regarded  himself  as  a  sort  of  idiot  in  the 
handling  of  figures;  and  he  was  consequently  inca- 
])acitated  for  many  subjects  which  he  could  handle 
very  well  when  they  were  explained  to  him  in  another 
form. — Thornton  Hunt  ("  Correspondence  of  L. 
H."). 

One  afternoon  Leigh  Hunt  drove  up  to  the  door 
in  a  hansom.  I  met  him  at  the  door,  where  he  was 
beaming  benevolently  at  the  cabman,  who  was  beam- 
ing too.  Says  Leigh  Hunt  after  the  usual  salutations, 
"  Fine  fellow  that  !"  I  ask  how,  for  neither  man, 
cab,  horse,  nor  harness  seemed  particularly  "  fine." 
"Well,"  says  Leigh  Hunt  "I  found  him  returning 
from  Hammersmith,  and  he  said  as  an  empty  he 
would  take  me  for  half  fare"  (the  whole  fare  was 
about  three  shillings),  "  so  I  told  him  to  drive  on. 
He  drove  nicely  and  steadily,  and  now  when  I  asked 
him  his  fare,  he  left  it  to  my  honor.  You  know 
nothing  could  be  fairer  than  that,  so  I  said  I  was 
sorry  to  say  that  I  had  only  two  half  sovereigns  in 
my  pocket,  would  one  of  them  do  ?  I  could  give 
him  that,  and,  if  not  enough,  he  could  call  at  so-and- 
so,  or  I  could  borrow  it  from  you.  '  Oh,  that  would 
do,'  he  said  ;  he  would  not  trouble  you.  He  took  it, 
thanked  me,  and  was  getting  on  to  his  cab  when  I 
stopped  liini  to  say  that  I  was  pleased  with  him,  and 
that  I  should  be  returning  about  nine  to-night,  when, 
if  he  liked,  he  might  come  for  me,  and  receive  the 
III.— 16 


Arithmetic. 


Adventure 

ivith  a 

cabman. 


242 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Self-por- 
traiture. 


same  fare  back.  He  said  he  would,  but  now  he  has 
driv'en  away  so  suddenly  as  you  opened  the  door 
that  I  hardly  know  what  to  think." — Francis  H. 
Grundy  ("  Pictures  of  the  Past  "). 

I  felt  age  coming  on  me,  and  difficulties  not  les- 
sened by  failing  projects  :  nor  was  I  able,  had  I  been 
ever  so  inclined,  to  render  my  faculties  profitable 
"  in  the  market."  ...  A  man  can  only  do  what 
he  can  do,  or  as  others  will  let  him.  Suppose  he 
has  a  conscience  that  Avill  not  suffer  him  to  repro- 
duce the  works  of  other  people,  or  even  to  speak 
what  he  thinks  commonplace  enough  to  have  be- 
come public  property.  Suppose  this  conscience  will 
not  allow  him  to  accommodate  himself  to  the  opin- 
ion of  editors  and  reviewers.  Suppose  the  editors 
and  reviewers  themselves  will  not  encourage  him  to 
write  on  the  subjects  he  understands  best,  perhaps 
do  not  understand  the  subjects  themselves  ;  or,  at 
least,  play  with  him,  and  delay  him,  and  keep  him 
only  as  a  resource  when  their  own  circle  fails  them. 
Suppose  he  has  had  to  work  his  way  up  through 
animosities,  political  and  religious,  and  through 
such  clouds  of  adversity  as,  even  when  they  have 
passed  away,  leave  a  chill  of  misfortune  round  his 
repute,  and  make  "prosperity"  slow  to  encourage 
him.  Suppose,  in  addition  to  all  this,  he  is  in  bad 
health,  and  of  fluctuating  as  well  as  peculiar  pow- 
ers ;  of  a  temperament  easily  solaced  in  mind,  and 
as  easily  drowsed  in  body  ;  quick  to  enjoy  every  ob- 
ject in  creation,  every  thing  in  nature  and  in  art, 
every  sight,  every  sound,  every  book,  picture,  and 
flower,  and  at  the  same  time  really  qualified  to  do 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


243 


nothing,  but  either  to  preach  the  enjoyment  of  those 
objects  in  modes  derived  from  his  own  particular 
nature  and  breeding,  or  to  suffer  witli  mingled 
cheerfulness  and  poverty  the  consequences  of  advo- 
cating some  theory  on  the  side  of  human  progress. 
Great  may  sometimes  be  the  misery  of  that  man 
under  the  necessity  of  requesting  forbearance  or 
undergoing  obligation  ;  and  terrible  will  be  his 
doubts,  whether  some  of  his  friends  may  not  think 
he  had  better  have  had  a  conscience  less  nice,  or  an 
activity  less  at  the  mercy  of  his  physique. — Leigh 
Hunt  ("Autobiography"). 

In  his  presentation  of  his  father's  moral  nature 
and  intellectual  qualities,  Mr.  Hunt  is  .  .  . 
faithful  and  touching.'  Those  who  knew  Leigh 
Hunt  will  see  the  bright  face,  and  hear  the  musical 
voice  again,  when  he  is  recalled  to  them  in  this  pas- 
sage :  "  Few  men  were  more  attractive  in  society, 
whether  in  a  large  company  or  over  the  fireside. 
His  manners  were  peculiarly  animated  ;  his  con- 
versation, varied,  ranging  over  a  great  field  of  sub- 
jects, was  moved  and  called  forth  by  the  response 
of  his  companion.  .  .  .  With  much  freedom  of 
manners,  he  combined  a  spontaneous  courtesy  that 
never  failed,  and  a  considerateness  derived  from  a 
ceaseless  kindness  of  heart,  that  invariably  fascin- 
ated even  strangers.  .  .  .  His  animation,  his 
sympathy  with  what  was  gay  and  pleasurable  ;  his 
avowed  doctrine  of  cultivating  cheerfulness,  were 
manifest  on  the  surface,  and  could  be  appreciated 

'  The  reference  is  to  Thornton  Hunt's  Introduction  to  the  revised 
edition  of  his  father's  autobiography. 


Sflf por- 
traiture. 


Dickens's 
exfilanntion 
concerniiie^ 

"Harold 
Ski'ii^oU." 


244 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Dickens's 

explanation 

concfrning 

••  Harold 

Skiinpole." 


by  those  who  knew  him  in  society,  most  probably 
even  exaggerated  as  salient  traits,  on  which  he  him- 
self insisted  with  a  sort  of  gay  and  ostentatious  ivilful- 
ness." 

The  last  words  describe  one  of  the  most  captivat- 
ing peculiarities  of  a  most  original  and  engaging 
man,  better  than  any  other  words  could.  The 
reader  is  besought  to  observe  them,  for  a  reason 
that  shall  presently  be  given.  .  .  .  Four  or  five 
years  ago,  the  writer  of  these  lines  was  much  pained 
by  accidentally  encountering  a  printed  statement, 
"that  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  was  the  original  of  Harold 
Skimpole  in  Bleak  House."  .  .  .  The  fact  is 
this  : — 

Exactly  those  graces  and  charms  of  manner 
which  are  remembered  in  the  words  we  have  qvioted, 
were  remembered  by  the  author  of  the  work  of  fic- 
tion in  question,  when  he  drew  the  character  in 
question.  Above  all  other  things,  that  "  sort  of  gay 
and  ostentatious  wilfulness  "  in  the  humoring  of  a 
subject,  which  had  many  a  time  delighted  him,  and 
impressed  him  as  being  unspeakably  whimsical  and 
attractive,  was  the  airy  quality  he  Avanted  for  the 
man  he  invented.  Partly  for  this  reason,  and  partly 
(lie  has  since  often  grieved  to  tliink)  for  tlie  pleasure 
it  afforded  him  to  find  that  delightful  manner  re- 
producing itself  under  his  hand,  he  yielded  to  the 
temptation  of  too  often  making  the  character  speak 
like  his  old  friend.  He  no  more  thought — God 
forgive  him  ! — that  the  admired  original  would  ever 
be  charged  with  the  imaginary  vices  of  the  fic- 
titious character,  tlian  he  has  himself  ever  thought 
of  charging  the  blood  of   Desdemona  and   Othello 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


245 


on  the  innocent  academy  model  who  sat  for  lago's 
leg  in  the  picture. — Charles  Dickens  {All  the  Year 
Round,  December  24,  1859). 

I  have  seen  him  in  many  situations  calculated  to 
try  the  nerves,  and  never  saw  him  moved  by  per- 
sonal fear.  He  has  been  in  a  carriage  of  which  the 
horses  ran  away,  and  seemed  only  to  enjoy  the 
rapidity  of  the  motion  ;  in  fact,  I  believe  he  could 
scarcely  present  to  his  mind  the  chances  of  personal 
mischief  that  were  before  us.  I  have  seen  him 
threatened,  more  than  once,  by  brutal  and  brawny 
rustics,  whom  he  instantly  approached  with  an  ani- 
mated and  convincing  remonstrance.  I  have  seen 
him  in  a  carriage  nearly  carried  away  by  a  flooded 
river,  his  whole  anxiety  being  centred  in  one  of  his 
children,  whom  bethought  to  be  more  exposed  than 
himself.  I  have  seen  him  for  weeks  together,  each 
hour  of  the  day,  in  imminent  danger  of  shipwreck, 
and  never  observed  the  slightest  solicitude,  except 
for  those  about  him.  .  .  .  But  there  was  a  spe- 
cies of  fear  which  beset  him  in  every  situation  of 
life — it  was,  lest  he  might  not  do  quite  what  was 
right  ;  lest  some  terrible  evil  should  be  inflicted 
vipon  somebody  else  ;  and  this  thought,  if  he  re- 
flected, did  sometimes  paralyse  his  action  and  pro- 
voke evident  emotion. — Thornton  Hunt  (*'  Intro- 
duction to  L.  H.'s  Autobiography"). 

Those  who  imagine  that  Leigh  Hunt  was  indiffer- 
ent to  his  pecuniary  obligations,  in  the  most  curious 
manner  invert  the  true  state  of  the  case.  He  was 
so  incessantly  haunted  by  them,  so  over-anxious  to 


Courage. 


A  nxiety 
about  debts. 


246 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Anxiety 
about  debts. 


Conscien- 
tiousness. 


fulfil  all  that  was  due  from  him,  that  he  often  para- 
lysed his  own  powers.  At  a  later  day,  he  had  the 
means  of  not  only  keeping  pace  with  the  time,  but 
of  recovering  these  arrears  ;  ...  he  never  pre- 
termitted the  endeavor,  and  derived  immense  satis- 
faction from  the  progress  made. — Thornton  Hunt 
("Correspondence  of  L.  H."). 

His  friend,  Mr.  Reynell,  tells  me  .  .  .  that  in 
his  later  days  Mr.  Hunt  often  said  to  him  his  great 
wish  was,  that  when  he  died  he  should  not  owe  to 
any  one  a  half-penny.  He  had  borrowed  from  the 
good  Duke  of  Devonshire  a  sum  of  ^200,  and  re- 
turned it  to  him.  .  .  .  Hunt  was  indebted  to  Mr. 
Reynell — a  debt  incurred  by  Mr.  Reynell  becoming 
surety  for  him  in  1832.  .  .  ,  Twenty  years  af- 
terward he  repaid  that  sum — on  receiving  the  first 
instalment  of  Shelley's  legacy — as  he  had  promised  he 
would  do. — Samuel  C.  Hall  ("Book  of  Memories"). 

Perhaps  the  mastering  trait  in  his  character  was 
a  conscienti(msness  which  was  carried  even  to  ex- 
tremes. While  he  possessed  an  uncertain  grasp  of 
material  facts,  .  .  .  and  viewed  things  most 
distinctly  w4ien  they  were  presented  to  his  mind  in 
the  mirror  of  some  abstraction,  he  never  was  able 
to  rest  with  a  final  confidence  in  his  own  judgment. 
The  anxiety  to  recognise  the  right  of  others,  the 
tendency  to  "  refine,"  w^hich  was  noticed  by  an  early 
school  companion,  and  the  propensity  to  elaborate 
every  thought,  made  him,  along  with  the  direct 
argument  by  which  he  sustained  his  own  conviction, 
recognise  and  almost  admit  all  that  might  be  said 
on  the  opposite   side.     If,    indeed,  the  facts   upon 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


247 


Conscien- 
tiousness. 


which  he  had  to  rely  had  become  matter  of  literary- 
record,  he  would  collect  them  with  an  unwearied 
industry  of  research  ;  but  in  the  action  of  life  these 
resources  did  not  always  avail  him  ;  and  the  exces- 
sive anxiety  to  take  into  account  all  that  might  be 
advanced  on  every  side,  with  the  no  less  excessive 
wish  to  do  what  was  right,  to  avoid  every  chance  of 
wrong,  and,  if  possible,  to  abstain  from  causing  any 
pain,  begot  an  uncertainty  of  purpose  for  which  I 
can  find  no  known  prototype  except  in  the  charac- 
ter of  Hamlet. — Thornton  Hunt  ("  Introduction  to 
L.  H.'s  Autobiography  "). 

His  life  was  in  several  respects,  a  life  of  trouble, 
though  his  cheerfulness  was  such  that  he  was,  upon  ! 
the  whole,  happier  than  some  men  who  have  had  i  ^'>t  ■»  '"'^'^ 
fewer  griefs  to  wrestle  with.  .  .  .  Leigh  Hunt's 
was  an  essentially  human  nature,  rich  and  inclusive. 
.  .  .  It  has  been  said  occasionally  that  Leigh 
Hunt  was  a  weak  man.  He  had,  it  is  true,  particu- 
lar weaknesses,  as  evinced  in  his  want  of  business 
knowledge,  and  in  a  certain  hesitation  of  judgment 
on  some  points,  which  his  son  has  aptly  likened  to 
the  ultra  deliberation  of  Hamlet,  and  which  was  the 
result  of  an  extreme  conscientiousness.  But  a  man 
who  had  the  courage  to  take  his  stand  against  power 
on  behalf  of  right  ^ — who,  in  the  midst  of  the  sorest 

^  In  1813  Hunt  and  his  brother  were  sentenced  to  two  years' 
imprisonment  for  a  very  severe  article  upon  the  Prince  Regent 
(afterwards  George  IV.),  which  had  been  published  in  the  Ex- 
(Duiner.  The  Government  made  several  offers  of  compromise, 
upon  condition  that  no  more  articles  of  the  same  kind  should  be 
published  in  the  Examiner.  These  offers  were  rejected,  and  the 
brothers  went  to  prison  for  two  years. 


248 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Not  a  weak 
jttan. 


Carlyle's 
skftchcs. 


temptations,  maintained  his  honesty  unblemished 
by  a  single  stain — who,  in  all  public  and  private 
transactions,  was  the  very  soul  of  truth  and  honor 
— who  never  bartered  his  opinion  or  betrayed  his 
friend — could  not  have  been  a  weak  man. — Charles 
Dickens  (All  the  Year  Round,  December  24,  1859). 

Leigh  Hunt  was  here  '  almost  nightly,  three  or 
four  times  a  week,  I  should  reckon  ;  he  came  always 
neatly  dressed,  was  thoroughly  courteous,  friendly 
of  spirit,  and  talked  like  a  singing-bird.  Good  in- 
sight, plenty  of  a  kind  of  humor  too  ;  I  remember 
little  warbles  in  the  tones  of  his  fine  voice  which 
were  full  of  fun  and  charm.  We  gave  him  Scotch 
porridge  to  supper  ("nothing  in  nature  so  interest- 
ing and  delightful  ")  ;  she  played  him  Scotch  tunes  ; 
a  man  he  to  understand  and  feel  them  well.  His 
talk  was  often  enough  (perhaps  at  first  oftenest), 
literary,  biographical,  autobiographical,  wandering 
into  criticism,  reform  of  society,  progress,  etc.,  etc., 
on  which  latter  points  he  gradually  found  me  very 
shocking  (I  believe — so  fatal  to  his  rose-colored  vi- 
sions on  the  subject). — Thomas  Carlyle  ("Remi- 
niscences"). 

Our  commonest  evening  sitter,  for  a  good  w^hile, 
was  Leigh  Hunt,  who  lived  close  by,  and  delighted 
to  sit  talking  with  us  (free,  cheery,  idly  melodious 
as  bird  on  bough),  or  listening,  with  real  feeling, 
to  her  old  Scotch  tunes  on  the  piano,  and  winding 
up  with  a  frugal  morsel  of  Scotch  porridge  (end- 
lessly admirable  to  Hunt).     I  think  I  spoke  of  this 

'  At  Carlyle' s  house  in  London. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


249 


above  ?  Hunt  was  always  accurately  dressed  these 
evenings,  and  had  a  fine,  chivalrous,  gentlemanly 
carriage,  polite,  affectionate,  respectful  (especially 
to  her),  and  yet  so  free  and  natural.  Her  brilliancy 
and  faculty  he  at  once  recognized,  none  better,  but 
there  rose  gradually  in  it,  to  his  astonished  eye, 
something  of  positive,  of  practically  steadfast,  which 
scared  him  off  a  good  deal  ;  the  lilie  in  my  own 
case  too,  still  more,  which  he  would  call  "  Scotch," 
"  Presbyterian,"  who  knows  what  ;  and  which  gradu- 
ally repelled  him,  in  sorrow,  not  in  anger,  quite 
away  from  us,  with  rare  exceptions,  which,  in  his 
last  years,  was  almost  pathetic  to  us  both.  Long 
before  this  he  had  gone  to  live  in  Kensington,  and 
we  scarcely  saw  him  except  by  accident.  His  house- 
hold, while  in  "  4  Upper  Cheyne  Row,"  within  few 
steps  of  us  here,  almost  at  once  disclosed  itself  to 
be  huggermugger,  unthrift,  and  sordid  collapsed, 
once  for  all,  and  had  to  be  associated  with  on  cau- 
tious terms,  while  he  himself  emerged  out  of  it  in 
the  chivalrous  figure  I  describe.  Dark  complexion 
(a  trace  of  the  African,  I  believe),  copious,  clean, 
strong  black  hair,  beautifully  shaped  head,  fine 
beaming  serious  hazel  eyes  ;  seriousness  and  intel- 
lect the  main  expression  of  the  face  (to  our  surprise 
at  first)  ;  he  would  lean  on  his  elbow  against  the 
mantel-piece  (fine,  clean,  elastic  figure,  too,  he  had, 
five  feet  ten  or  more),  and  look  round  him  nearly  in 
silence,  before  taking  leave  for  the  night,  "  as  if  I 
were  a  Lar,"  said  he  once,  "or  permanent  household 
god  here  "  (such  his  polite,  aerial-like  way).  Another 
time,  rising  from  this  Lar  attitude,  he  repeated 
(voice  very  fine)  as  if  in  sport  of  parody,  yet  with 


Carlyle's 
slietckcs. 


250 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Carlyle>s 
si-etches. 


something  of  very  sad  perceptible,  "  While  I  to 
sulphurous  and  penal  fire  "...  as  the  last  thing 
before  vanishing. — Thomas  Carlyle  ("  Reminiscen- 
ces "). 

His  hair  is  grizzled,  eyes  black-hazel,  complexion 
of  the  clearest  dusky-brown  ;  a  thin  glimmer  of  a 
smile  plays  over  a  face  of  cast-iron  gravity.  He 
never  laughs — can  only  titter,  which  I  think  indi- 
cates his  worst  deficiency.  His  house  excels  all  you 
have  ever  read  of — a  poetical  Tinkerdom,  without 
parallel  even  in  literature.  In  his  family  room, 
where  are  a  sickly  large  wife  and  a  whole  shoal  of 
well-conditioned  wild  children,  you  will  find  half  a 
dozen  old  rickety  chairs  gathered  from  lialf  a  dozen 
different  hucksters,  and  all  seemingly  engaged,  and 
just  pausing,  in  a  violent  hornpipe.  On  these  and 
around  them,  and  over  the  dusty  table  and  ragged 
carpet,  lie  all  kinds  of  litter — books,  papers,  egg- 
shells, scissors,  and  last  night  when  I  was  there  the 
torn  heart  of  a  half-quartern  loaf.  His  own  room 
above-stairs,  into  which  alone  I  strive  to  enter,  he 
keeps  cleaner.  It  has  only  two  chairs,  a  bookcase, 
and  a  writing-table  ;  yet  the  noble  Hunt  receives 
you  in  his  Tinkerdom  in  the  spirit  of  a  king,  apolo- 
gizes for  nothing,  places  you  in  the  best  seat,  takes 
a  window-sill  himself  if  there  is  no  other,  and  there 
folding  closer  his  loose-flowing  '  muslin-cloud'  of  a 
printed  nightgown  in  which  he  always  writes,  com- 
mences the  liveliest  dialogue  on  philosophy  and  the 
prospects  of  man  (who  is  to  be  beyond  measure 
'  happy '  yet)  ;  which  again  he  will  courteously  ter- 
minate the  moment  you  are  bound  to  go  :  a  most 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


251 


A  great 

cynic's 

judgment. 


interesting,  pitiable,  lovable  man,  to  be  used  kindly 
but  with  discretion. — Thomas  Carlyle  (From  two 
letters  of  1834,  in  Froude's  "Carlyle  "). 

Mr.  Hunt  is  a  man  of  the  most  indisputably  su- 
perior worth  ;  a  Man  of  Genius  in  a  very  strict  sense 
of  that  word,  and  in  all  the  senses  which  it  bears  or 
implies  :  of  brilliant  varied  gifts,  of  graceful  fertil- 
ity, of  clearness,  lovingness,  truthfulness  ;  of  child- 
like open  character  ;  also  of  most  pure,  and  even 
exemplary  private  deportment  ;  a  man  who  can  be 
other  than  loved  only  by  those  who  have  not  seen 
him,  or  seen  him  from  a  distance  through  a  false 
medium.  .  .  .  Well  seen  into,  he  has  done  much 
for  the  world  ; — as  every  man  possessed  of  such 
qualities,  and  freely  speaking  them  forth  in  the 
abundance  of  his  heart  for  thirty  years  long,  must 
needs  do  ;  how  much  they  that  could  judge  best 
would  perhaps  estimate  highest. — Thomas  Carlyle 
("Memoranda  concerning  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt").' 


As  he  advanced  in  life,  from  youth  to  middle  age, 
he  was  a  living  refutation  of  the  worldly  maxims 
which  attribute  generosity  to  youth,  and  harder 
virtues  to  maturity  and  old  age.  In  literature,  as 
in  daily  life,  as  he  grew  older  he  became  kindly  and 
considerate  to  a  fault. — Anon.  {Aihenceum,  Septem- 
ber 3,  1859). 

He  has  been  censured  for  literary  affectation  and 
for  personal  improvidence,  but  only  by  those  who 

'  Printed  in  Alexander  Ireland's  List  of  the  Writings  of  William 
Hazlitt  and  Leigh  Hunt,  etc.     8vo.     London,  1868. 


Mello7ving 
tvith  age. 


252 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


A  sail's 
estimate. 


do  not  understand  the  real  elements  of  his  char- 
acter. The  leading  ideas  of  his  mind  were,  first, 
earnest  duty  to  his  country  at  any  cost  to  himself  ; 
next,  the  sacrifice  of  any  ordinary  consideration  to 
personal  affection  and  friendship  ;  and  lastly,  the 
cultivation  of  "  the  ideal,"  especially  as  it  is  de- 
veloped in  imaginative  literature.  His  life  was 
passed  in  an  absolute  devotion  to  these  three  prin- 
ciples. A  one-sided  frankness  has  blazoned  to  the 
world  the  sacrifices  which  he  accepted  from  friends, 
but  has  whispered  nothing  of  the  more  than  com- 
mensurate sacrifices  made  on  his  side  ;  and  the 
simplicity  that  rendered  him  the  creature  of  the 
library  in  which  he  lived  entered  into  the  expres- 
sion of  all  his  thoughts  and  feelings. — Thornton 
Hunt  {Atlantic  Monthly,  February,  1863). 


Ilaiu- 

t/iorne's 

visit. 


He  was  then  '  at  Hammersmith,  occupying  a  very 
plain  and  shabby  little  house,  in  a  contiguous  range 
of  others  like  it,  with  no  prospect  but  that  of  an 
ugly  village  street,  and  certainly  nothing  to  gratify 
his  craving  for  a  tasteful  environment,  inside  or 
out.  A  slatternly  maid-servant  opened  the  door  for 
us,  and  he  himself  stood  in  the  entry,  a  beautiful 
and  venerable  old  man,  buttoned  to  the  chin  in  a 
black  dress-coat,  tall  and  slender,  with  a  counte- 
nance quietly  alive  all  over,  and  the  gentlest  and 
most  naturally  courteous  manner.  He  ushered  us 
into  his  little  study,  or  parlor,  or  both, — a  very  for- 
lorn room,  with  poor  paper-hangings  and  carpet, 
few  books,  no  pictures  that  I  remember,  and  an 
awful  lack  of  upholstery.     I  touch  distinctly  upon 

>  About  1855. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


253 


these  external  blemishes  and  this  nudity  of  adorn- 
ment, not  that  they  would  be  worth  mentioning  in 
a  sketch  of  other  remarkable  persons,  but  because 
Leigh  Hunt  was  born  with  such  a  faculty  of  enjoy- 
ing all  beautiful  things  that  it  seemed  as  if  Fortune 
did  him  as  much  wrong  in  not  supplying  them  as 
in  withholding  a  sufficiency  of  vital  breath  from  or- 
dinary men.  All  kinds  of  mild  magnificence,  tem- 
pered by  his  taste,  would  have  become  him  well  ; 
but  he  had  not  the  grim  dignity  that  assumes  naked- 
ness as  the  better  robe. 

I  have  said  that  he  was  a  beautiful  old  man.  In 
truth  I  never  saw  a  finer  countenance,  either  as  to 
the  mould  of  features  or  the  expression,  nor  any 
that  showed  the  play  of  feeling  so  perfectly  without 
the  slightest  theatrical  emphasis.  It  was  like  a 
child's  face  in  this  respect.  At  my  first  glimpse  of 
him,  when  he  met  us  in  the  entry,  I  discerned  that 
he  was  old,  his  long  hair  being  white  and  his 
wrinkles  many  ;  it  was  an  aged  visage,  in  short, 
such  as  I  had  not  at  all  expected  to  see,  in  spite  of 
dates,  because  his  books  talk  to  the  reader  with  the 
tender  vivacity  of  youth.  But  when  he  began  to 
speak,  and  as  he  grew  more  earnest  in  conversation, 
I  ceased  to  be  sensible  of  his  age  ;  sometimes,  in- 
deed, its  dusky  shadow  darkened  through  the  gleam 
which  his  sprightly  thoughts  diffused  about  his  face, 
but  then  another  flash  of  youth  came  out  of  his  eyes 
and  made  an  illumination  again.  I  never  witnessed 
such  a  wonderfully  illusive  transformation,  before 
or  since  ;  and,  to  this  day,  trusting  only  to  my  rec- 
ollection, I  should  find  it  difficidt  to  decide  which 
was  his  genuine  and  stable  predicament, — youth  or 


Haiii- 

thorne'  s 

visit. 


254 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


HaiK- 

thorne's 

visit. 


age.  I  have  met  no  Englishman  whose  manners 
seemed  to  me  so  agreeable,  soft,  rather  than  pol- 
ished, wholly  unconventional,  the  natural  growth 
of  a  kindly  and  sensitive  disposition  without  any 
reference  to  rule,  or  else  obedient  to  some  rule  so 
subtile  that  the  nicest  observer  could  not  detect  the 
application  of  it. 

His  eyes  were  dark  and  very  fine,  and  his  de- 
lightful voice  accompanied  their  visible  language 
like  music.  He  appeared  to  be  exceedingly  ap- 
preciative of  whatever  was  passing  among  those 
who  surrounded  him,  and  especially  of  the  vicissi- 
tudes in  the  consciousness  of  the  person  to  whom 
he  happened  to  be  addressing  himself  at  the  mo- 
ment. I  felt  that  no  effect  upon  my  mind  of  what 
he  uttered,  no  emotion,  however  transitory,  in  my- 
self, escaped  his  notice,  though  not  from  any  posi- 
tive vigilance  on  his  part,  but  because  his  faculty 
of  observation  was  so  penetrative  and  delicate  ;  and 
to  say  the  truth,  it  a  little  confused  me  to  discern 
always  a  ripple  on  his  mobile  face,  responsive  to 
any  slightest  breeze  that  passed  over  the  inner  re- 
servoir of  my  sentiments,  and  seemed  thence  to 
extend  to  a  similar  reservoir  within  himself.  On 
matters  of  feeling,  and  within  a  certain  depth,  you 
might  spare  yourself  tlic  trouble  of  utterance,  be- 
cause he  already  knew  what  you  wanted  to  say,  and 
perhaps  a  little  more  than  yon  would  have  spoken. 
His  figure  was  full  of  gentle  movement,  though, 
somehow,  without  disturbing  its  quietude  ;  and  as 
he  talked,  he  kept  folding  his  hands  nervously, 
and  betokened  in  many  ways  a  fine  and  immediate 
sensibility,  quick  to  feel  pleasure  or  pain,  though 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


255 


scarcely  capable,  I  should  imagine,  of  a  passionate 
experience  in  either  direction.     There  was  not  an 
English  trait  in  him  from  head  to  foot,  morally,  in- 
tellectually, or  physically.   Beef,  ale,  or  stout,  brandy, 
or  port  wine,  entered  not  at  all  into  his  composition. 
In   his  earlier  life,  he  appears  to   have  given   evi- 
dences of  courage   and  sturdy  principle,  and  of  a 
tendency  to  fling  himself  into   the  rough  struggle 
of  humanity  on  the  liberal  side.     It  would  be   tak- 
ing too  much  upon  myself  to   affirm  that  this  was 
merely  a  projection    of   his  fancy  world    into   the 
actual,  and  that  he  never  could  have  hit  a  down- 
right blow,  and  was  altogether  an  unsuitable  person 
to  receive  one.     I  beheld  him  not  in  his  armor,  but 
in  his  peacefuUest  robes.     Nevertheless,  drawing  my 
conclusion  merely  from  what  I  saw,  it  Avould  have 
occurred  to  me  that  his  main  deficiency  was  a  lack 
of  grit.     Though   anything  but   a  timid  man,   the 
combative  and  defensive  elements  were  not  promi- 
nently developed  in  his  character,  and  could  have 
been  made   available  only  when  he   put  an  unnat- 
ural force  upon   his   instincts.     It  was  on  this  ac- 
count, and  also  because  of  the  fineness  of  his  nature 
generally,    that    the    English    appreciated    him   no 
better,  and   left  this   sweet  and  delicate  poet  poor, 
and  with  scanty  laurels  in  his  declining  age.     .     .     . 
Leigh  Hunt  loved  dearly  to  be  praised.     That  is 
to  say,  he  desired  sympathy  as  a  flower  seeks  sun- 
shine, and  perhaps  profited  by  it  as  much  in  the 
richer    depth   of   coloring   that   it  imparted  to  his 
ideas.     In  response  to  all  that  we  ventured  to  ex- 
press about  his  writings  (and,  for  my  part,  I  went 
quite  to  the  extent  of  my  conscience,  which  was  a 


Haii<- 

tlwrne's 

visit. 


256 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


long  way,  and  there  left  the  matter  to  a  lady  and  a 
young  girl,  who  happily  were  with  me),  his  face 
shone,  and  he  manifested  great  delight,  with  a  per- 
fect, and  yet  delicate,  frankness  for  which  I  loved 
him.  He  could  not  tell  us,  he  said,  the  happiness 
that  such  appreciation  gave  him  ;  it  always  took 
him  by  surprise,  he  remarked,  for — perhaps  be- 
cause he  cleaned  his  own  boots,  and  performed 
other  little  ordinary  offices  for  liimself — he  never 
had  been  conscious  of  anything  wonderful  in  his 
own  person.  And  then  he  smiled,  making  all  the 
poor  little  parlor  about  him  beavitiful  thereby.  It 
is  usually  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  praise 
a  man  to  his  face  ;  but  Leigh  Hunt  received  the 
incense  with  such  gracious  satisfaction  (feeling  it  to 
be  sympathy,  not  vulgar  praise),  that  the  only  diffi- 
culty was  to  keep  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment 
within  the  limit  of  permanent  opinion.  A  storm 
had  suddenly  come  up  while  we  were  talking  ;  the 
rain  poured,  the  lightning  flashed,  and  the  thunder 
broke  ;  but  I  hope,  and  have  great  pleasure  in  be- 
lieving, that  it  was  a  sunny  hour  for  Leigh  Hunt. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  not  to  my  voice  that  he  most 
favorably  inclined  his  ear,  but  to  those  of  my  com- 
panions. Women  are  the  fit  ministers  at  such  a 
shrine. 

He  must  have  suffered  keenly  in  his  lifetime,  and 
enjoyed  keenly,  keeping  his  emotions  so  much  upon 
the  surface  as  he  seemed  to  do,  and  convenient  for 
everybody  to  play  upon.  Being  of  a  cheerful  tem- 
perament, happiness  had  probably  the  upper  hand. 
His  was  a  light,  mildly  joyous  nature,  gentle,  grace- 
ful, yet  seldom  attaining  to  that  deepest  grace  which 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


257 


Ha  711- 

tkoriie's 

visit. 


results  from  power  ;  for  beauty,  like  woman,  its 
human  representative,  dallies  with  the  gentle,  but 
yields  its  consummate  treasure  only  to  the  strong. 
I  imagine  that  Leigh  Hunt  may  have  been  more 
beautiful  when  I  met  him,  both  in  person  and  char- 
acter, than  in  his  earlier  days.  As  a  young  man  I 
could  conceive  of  his  being  finical  in  certain  moods, 
but  not  now,  when  the  gravity  of  age  shed  a  vener- 
able grace  about  him.  I  rejoiced  to  hear  him  say 
that  he  was  favored  with  most  confident  and  cheer- 
ing anticipations  in  respect  to  a  future  life ;  and 
there  were  abundant  proofs,  throughout  our  inter- 
view, of  an  unrepining  spirit,  resignation,  quiet 
relinquishment  of  the  worldly  benefits  that  were 
denied  him,  thankful  enjoyment  of  whatever  he 
had  to  enjoy,  and  piety,  and  hope  shining  onward 
into  the  dusk, — all  of  which  gave  a  reverential  cast 
to  the  feeling  with  which  we  parted  from  him.  I 
wish  he  could  have  had  one  full  draught  of  pros- 
perity before  he  died.  As  a  matter  of  artistic  pro- 
priety, it  would  have  been  delightful  to  see  him 
inhabiting  a  beautiful  house  of  his  own,  in  an  Ital- 
ian climate,  with  all  sorts  of  elaborate  upholstery 
and  minute  elegances  about  him,  and  a  succession 
of  tender  and  lovely  women  to  praise  his  sweet 
poetry  from  morning  to  night.  I  hardly  know 
whether  it  is  my  fault,  or  the  effect  of  a  weakness 
in  Leigh  Hunt's  character,  that  I  should  be  sensible 
of  a  regret  of  this  nature,  when,  at  the  same  time, 
I  sincerely  believe  that  he  has  found  an  infinity  of 
better  things  in  the  world  whither  he  has  gone. 

At  our  leave-taking  he  grasped  me  warmly  by 
both  hands,  and  seemed  as  much  interested  in  our 
III.— 17 


258 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT. 


Haitt- 

t home's 
visit. 


whole  party  as  if  he  had  known  us  for  years.  All 
this  was  genuine  feeling,  a  quick  luxuriant  growth 
out  of  his  heart,  which  was  a  soil  for  flower-seeds 
of  rich  and  rare  varieties,  not  acorns,  but  a  true 
heart,  nevertheless.  Several  years  afterwards  I  met 
him  for  the  last  time  at  a  London  dinner-party, 
looking  sadly  broken  down  by  infirmities  ;  and  my 
final  recollection  of  the  beautiful  old  man  presents 
him  arm  in  arm  with,  nay,  if  I  mistake  not,  partly 
embraced  and  supported  by,  another  beloved  and 
honored  poet,  whose  minstrel-name,  since  he  has 
a  week-day  one  for  his  personal  occasions,  I  wnll 
venture  to  speak.  It  was  Barry  Cornwall,  whose 
kind  introduction  had  first  made  me  known  to 
Leigh  Hunt. — Nathaniel  Hawthorne  ("  Our  Old 
Home").' 

'  Hawthorne  (Nathaniel).  Our  Old  Home  :  a  Series  of  English 
Sketches.  i6mo.  Boston:  Ticknor  &  Fields,  1863.  (The  pre- 
ceding extract  from  Hawthorne  is  reprinted  in  this  volume  by  the 
courtesy  of  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin,  &  Co.) 


BRYAN    WALLER    PROCTER. 

i;8;-i874. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


BARRY  CORNWALL  "  was  the  youngest  of 
this  little  company  of  friends,  and  he  out- 
lived them  all  by  many  years.  He  saw  the  dawn  of 
Wordsworth's  fame  ;  he  saw  the  full  development  of 
the  powers  of  Tennyson  and  of  Browning  ;  and  he 
lived  to  witness  the  rise  of  poets,  who  have  demon- 
strated the  inability  of  the  highest  technical  skill  to 
conceal  or  atone  for  dearth  of  feeling  and  poverty 
of  imagination. 

His  long  life  was  prosperous  and  happy  ;  un- 
marked by  stirring  incidents  or  strange  experiences. 
The  quiet  beauty  of  his  character  was  sullied  by  no 
departures  from  the  even  course  of  mental  and 
moral  sanity.  Men  of  this  kind  do  not  invite  re- 
mark. Biographers  miss  in  them  the  sharp  contrasts 
which  give  the  light  and  shade  essential  to  an  effec- 
tive picture.  Still  it  is  surprising  how  very  few  ac- 
counts we  have  of  Procter.  The  leading  facts  of  his 
life,  and  some  pleasant  personal  reminiscences,  are 
recorded  in  a  volume  edited  by  Coventry  Patmore, 
and  entitled  "  Bryan  Waller  Procter  :  an  Autobio- 
graphical Fragment,  and  Biographical  Notes."  This 
is  the  only  memoir  of  him,  nor  is  it  at  all  likely  that 
a  more  formal  and  extended  work  will  be  attempted. 


262       BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


His  nature  was  gentle  and  retiring  ;  warmly  af- 
fectionate, yet  not  effusive  ;  calmly  and  steadily 
cheerful,  rather  than  gay  ;  as  far  removed  from  dul- 
ness  as  from  boisterous  hilarity.  "The  tradition 
of  such  a  character,"  says  Mr.  Patmore,  "has  the 
power  of  lingering  in  the  world,  even  when  the  life 
has  been  so  uneventful  as  to  leave  little  scope  for  bi- 
ography or  even  for  anecdote."  A  serenity  and  har- 
mony, too  rarely  seen  in  the  lives  of  literary  men, 
form  the  essential  charm  of  Procter's  character,  and 
give  a  sense  of  repose  and  relief  to  all  our  thoughts 
of  this  happily  constituted  man. 

LEADING   EVENTS   OF   PROCTER'S   LIFE. 

1787.  Born,  November  21st,  in  London. 

1800,  cu-ca. — (Aged  13.)  A  scholar  at  Harrow. 
1815. — (Aged  28.)  Contributes  poems  to  the  London  Literary  Ga- 
zette, 
1816. — (Aged  29.)  Comes  into  possession  of  property,  upon  the 

death  of  his  father, 
1819. — (Aged  32.)  Publishes  "  Dramatic  Scenes." 
1820.— (Aged  33.)  Publishes  "A  Sicilian  Story,"  and  "  Marcian 

Colonna." 
1821.  — (Aged  34.)   His   tragedy    of    "Mirandola,"    performed   at 

Covent  Garden  Theatre. 
1823.— (Aged  36.)  Publishes  "  The  Flood  of  Thessaly,"  and  other 

poems. 
1824. — (Aged  37.)  Marries  Miss  Skepper. 
1831. — (Aged  44.)  Called    to    the     bar.       Publishes     "English 

Songs." 
1832. — (Aged  45.)  Appointed  Commissioner  of  Lunacy.    Publishes 

second  edition  of  "English  Songs." 
1835.— (Aged  48.)  Publishes  the  "Life  of  Edmund  Kean." 
1861. — (Aged  74.)  Resigns  his  office  of  Commissioner. 
1866. — (Aged  79.)   Publishes  "Charles  Lamb,  a  Biography." 
1874. — (Aged  86  years  and  10  months.)  Dies,  October  4th. 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


THE  poet's  figure  was  short  and  full,  and  his 
voice  had  a  low,  veiled  tone  habitually  in  it, 
which  made  it  sometimes  difficult  to  hear  distinctly 
what  he  was  saying.  When  in  conversation  he 
liked  to  be  very  near  his  listener,  and  thus  stand,  as 
it  were,  on  confidential  ground  with  him..  His  turn 
of  thought  was  cheerful  among  his  friends,  and  he 
proceeded  readily  into  a  vein  of  wit  and  nimble  ex- 
pression. Verbal  felicity  seemed  natural  to  him, 
and  his  epithets,  evidently  unprepared,  were  always 
perfect.  He  disliked  cant  and  hard  ways  of  judging 
character.  He  praised  easily.  He  had  no  wish  to 
stand  in  anybody's  shoes  but  his  own,  and  he  said, 
"  There  is  no  literary  vice  of  a  darker  shade  than 
envy."  Talleyrand's  recipe  for  perfect  happiness 
was  the  opposite  to  his.  He  impressed  every  one 
who  came  near  him  as  a  born  gentleman,  chivalrous 
and  generous  in  a  marked  degree,  and  it  was  the 
habit  of  those  who  knew  him  to  have  an  affection 
for  him.  Altering  a  line  of  Pope,  this  counsel  might 
have  been  safely  tendered  to  all  the  authors  of  his 
day,— 

"  Disdain  whatever  Procter's  mind  disdains." 

James  T.  Fields  ("  Old  Acquaintance  "). 


Sketch  of 
general 
character- 
istics. 


264 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


Carfyle's 
recollec- 
tions. 


I'oice  nnd 
7Jia>mer. 


A  decidedly  rather  pretty  little  fellow,  Procter, 
bodily  and  spiritually  ;  manners  prepossessing, 
slightly  London-elegant,  not  unpleasant  ;  clear 
judgment  in  him,  though  of  narrow  field  ;  a  sound 
honorable  morality,  and  airy  friendly  ways  ;  of  slight 
neat  figure,  vigorous  for  his  size  ;  fine  genially 
rugged  little  face,  fine  head  ;  something  curiously 
dreamy  in  the  eyes  of  him,  lids  drooping  at  the  outer 
ends  into  a  cordially  meditative  and  droopng  ex- 
pression ;  would  break  out  suddenly  now  and  then 
into  opera  attitude  and  a  La  ci  darem  la  mano  for  a 
moment ;  had  something  of  real  fun,  though  in 
London  style.  Me  he  had  invited  to  "  his  garret," 
as  he  called  it,  and  was  always  good  and  kind  and 
so  continues,  though  I  hardly  see  him  once  in  a 
quarter  of  a  century. — Thomas  Carlyle  ("  Reminis- 
cences"). 

A  plain,  middle-sized,  English-looking  gentleman, 
elderly,  with  white  hair,  and  particularly  quiet  in 
his  manners.  He  talks  in  a  somewhat  low  tone 
without  emphasis,  scarcely  distinct.  .  .  .  His 
head  has  a  good  outline,  and  would  look  well  in 
marble.  .  .  .  He  said  that  in  his  younger  days 
he  was  a  scientific  pugilist,  and  once  took  a  journey 
to  have  a  sparring  encounter  with  the  Game- 
Chicken.  Certainly  no  one  would  have  looked  for 
a  pugilist  in  this  subdued  old  gentleman.  .  ,  . 
He  is  slightly  deaf. — Nathaniel  Hawthorne  ("  Eng- 
lish Note-Books").' 


'  Hawthorne  (Nathaniel).     Passages  from  English  Note-books. 
2  vols.,  i2mo.     Boston:  Fields,  Osgood  &  Co.,  1870. 


BRYAN   WALLER  PROCTER. 


265 


He  had  a  modest — nay,  shy — manner  in  company  ; 
heightened  by  a  singular  nervous  affection,  a  kind 
of  sudden  twitch  or  contraction,  that  spasmodically 
flitted  athwart  his  face  as  he  conversed  upon  any 
lofty  theme,  or  argued  on  some  high-thoughted 
topic. — Mary  Cowden  Clarke  ("  Recollections  of 
Writers  "). 

There  are  three  or  four  individuals  who  used  to 
form  part  of  those  pleasant  symposii,^  to  whom  the 
nature  of  these  Recollections  calls  upon  me  to  refer 
more  particularly.  .  .  .  The  most  distinguished 
of  these  was  the  amiable  and  gifted  poet,  so  univer- 
sally known  to  the  reading  world  under  the  name  of 
Barrv  Cornwall.  This  gentleman  used  but  seldom 
to  grace  our  simple  feasts  of  "  reason  "  (or  of  folly,  as 
the  case  might  be)  ;  but  when  he  did  look  in  by  ac- 
cident, or  was  induced  by  Hazlitt's  request  to  come, 
everything  went  off  the  better  for  his  presence  ;  for, 
besides  the  fact  of  Hazlitt's  being  fond  of  his  society, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  thinking  so  highly  of  his  tal- 
ents as  always  to  talk  his  best  when  he  (Procter) 
was  a  partaker  of  the  talk,  there  is  an  endearing 
something  in  the  personal  manner  of  that  exquisite 
writer,  an  appearance  of  gentle  and  genial  sympathy 
with  the  feelings  of  those  with  whom  he  talks,  which 
has  the  effect  of  exciting  towards  him  that  persona/ 
interest  from  which  it  seems  itself  to  spring,  and  in 
the  absence  of  which  the  better  feelings  and  mental 
characteristics  incident  to  social  converse  are  seldom 
if  ever  called  forth.   In  Procter  Hazlitt  always  found 


'  Mr.  Patmore  is  here  alluding  to  the  evening  gatherings  at  inns 
and  coffee-houses,  where  Hazlitt  was  often  present. 


Voice  and 
manner. 


A  choice 
comj>anion. 


266 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


A  choice 
companion. 


Methods  of 
ivork. 


A  dinner  at 

Lady  Bless- 

ingtotCs, 


a  man  of  fine  and  delicate  intellectual  pretensions, 
who  was  nevertheless  eager  and  pleased  to  listen, 
with  attention  and  interest,  to  all  the  little  insig- 
nificant details  of  his  daily  life.  .  .  .  There  is 
.  .  .  between  the  writings  of  that  delightful  poet 
and  his  personal  character  a  beautiful  correspond- 
ence and  relationship,  which,  to  those  who  know 
him,  cause  them  to  act  and  re-act  upon  each  other, 
till  the  result  is  a  pervading  sense  of  gentle  sweet- 
ness of  temperament,  and  genial  goodness  of  heart. 
— Peter  G.  Patmore  ("My  Friends  and  Acquaint- 
ance "). 

Miss  Martineau,  in  her  short  sketch  of  Mr.  Procter, 
first  published  in  the  Daily  News,  tells  us  that  "  his 
favorite  method  was  to  compose  when  he  was  alone 
in  a  crowd,  and  he  declared  that  he  did  his  best 
when  walking  London  streets."  He  had  "an  odd 
habit  of  running  into  a  shop  to  secure  his  verses, 
often  carrying  them  away  on  scraps  of  crumpled 
paper  in  which  cheese  or  sugar  had  been  wrapped." 
— Coventry  Patmore  (in  Procter's  "  Autobiograph- 
ical Recollections,"  etc.) 

The  blaze  of  lamps  on  the  dinner  table  was  very 
favorable  to  my  curiosity,  and  as  Procter  and 
DTsraeli  sat  directly  opposite  me,  I  studied  their 
faces  to  advantage.  Barry  Cornwall's  forehead  and 
eye  are  all  that  would  strike  you  in  his  features. 
His  brows  are  heavy  ;  and  his  eye,  deeply  sunk,  has 
a  quick,  restless  fire,  that  would  have  arrested  my 
attention,  I  think,  had  I  not  known  he  was  a  poet. 
His  voice  has  the  huskiness  and  elevation  of  a  man 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


267 


more  accustomed  to  think  than  converse,  and  it  was 
never  heard  except  to  give  a  brief  and  very  con- 
densed opinion,  or  an  illustration,  admirably  to  the 
point,  of  the  subject  under  discussion. — Nathaniel 
P.  Willis  ("  Pencillings  by  the  Way  "). 

Most  of  Mr.  Procter's  intimate  friends  must  have 
heard  him  refer,  with  more  pride  perhaps  than  he 
ever  expressed  in  his  other  achievements,  to  the  fact 
that,  upon  just  occasion,  he  could  and  did  hold  his 
own  at  Harrow  by  his  pugilistic  abilities  ;  a  circum- 
stance to  which  he,  no  doubt,  looked  back  with  the 
greater  satisfaction  of  conscience,  inasmuch  as  he 
was  somewhat  under-sized  (though  w^ell-made),  and 
highly  sensitive  in  nerves. — Coventry  Patmore  (in 
Procter's  "Autobiographical  Recollections,"  etc.) 

Who  that  ever  came  habitually  into  his  presence 
can  forget  the  tones  of  his  voice,  the  tenderness  of 
his  gray  retrospective  eyes,  or  the  touch  of  his 
sympathetic  hand  laid  on  the  shoulder  of  a  friend  ! 
The  elements  were  indeed  so  kindly  mixed  in  him 
that  no  bitterness,  or  rancor  or  jealousy  had  part  or 
lot  in  his  composition.  No  distinguished  person 
was  ever  more  ready  to  help  forward  the  rising  and 
as  yet  nameless  literary  man  or  woman  who  asked 
his  counsel  and  warm-hearted  suffrage.  His  mere 
presence  was  sunshine  to  a  new-comer  into  the 
world  of  letters  and  criticism,  for  he  was  always 
quick  to  encourage,  and  slow  to  disparage  anybody. 
Indeed  to  be  human  only  entitled  any  one  who  came 
near  him  to  receive  the  gracious  bounty  of  his  good 
ness  and  courtesy.     He  made  it  the  happiness  of  his 


A  dinner  at 

Lady  Bless- 

ingto>Cs 


One  of  his 
feiu  boasts. 


Kindliness. 


268 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


Kindliness. 


A  fceneral 
estimate  of 
his  charac- 
ter. 


life  never  to  miss,  whenever  opportunity  occurred, 
the  chance  of  conferring  pleasure  and  gladness  on 
those  who  needed  kind  words  and  substantial  aid. — 
James  T.  Fields  ("  Old  Acquaintance)." 

No  one  who  has  passed  an  hour  in  the  company 
of  Charles  Lamb's  "dear  boy"  can  ever  lose  the  im- 
pression made  upon  him  by  that  simple,  sincere, 
shy,  and  delicate  soul.  His  small  figure,  his  head, 
not  remarkable  for  much  besides  its  expression  of 
intelligent  and  warm  good-will,  and  its  singular  like- 
ness to  that  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  ;  his  conversation, 
which  had  little  decision  or  ''point"  in  the  ordinary 
sense,  and  often  dwelt  on  truths  which  a  novelty- 
loving  society  banishes  from  its  repertory  as  truisms, 
never  disturbed  the  effect,  in  any  assemblage,  of  his 
real  distinction.  His  silence  seemed  wiser,  his  sim- 
plicity subtler,  his  shyness  more  courageous  than 
the  wit,  philosophy,  and  assurance  of  others. — Cov- 
entry Patmore  (in  Procter's  "  Autobiographical 
Recollections,"  etc.). 


EVENINGS  WITH  THE  LAMBS 

Sketches   by  Procter  and    Talfourd. 


EVENINGS  WITH  THE  LAMBS. 


THE  descriptions  of  Lamb's  "Wednesday  even- 
ings," by  Procter  and  Talfourd,  may  fitly  con- 
clude this  volume.  The  first  extract  is  from  Proc- 
ter's biography  of  Lamb  : 

"When  you  went  to  Lamb's  rooms  on  the  Wed- 
nesday evenings  (his  '  At  Home '),  you  generally 
found  the  card  table  spread  out,  Lamb  himself  one 
of  the  players.  On  the  corner  of  the  table  was  a 
snuff-box  ;  and  the  game  was  enlivened  by  sundry 
brief  ejaculations  and  pungent  questions,  which  kept 
alive  the  wits  of  the  party  present  It  was  not  'silent 
whist ' !  I  do  not  remember  whether,  in  common 
with  Sarah  Battle,  Lamb  had  a  weakness  in  favor 
of  '  Hearts.'  I  suppose  that  it  was  at  one  of  these 
meetings  that  he  made  that  shrewd  remark  which 
has  since  escaped  into  notoriety :  '  Martin '  (ob- 
served he),  'if  dirt  were  trumps,  what  a  hand  you 
would  hold  ! '  It  is  not  known  what  influence  Mar- 
tin's trumps  had  on  the  rubber  then  in  progress. — 
When  the  conversation  became  general,  Lamb's 
part  in  it  was  very  effective.  His  short,  clear  sen- 
tences always  produced  effect.  He  never  joined  in 
talk  unless  he  understood  the  subject  ;  then,  if  the 
matter  in  question  interested  him,  he  was  not  slow 
in  showing  his  earnestness  ;  but  I  never  heard  him 


2/2  EVENINGS    WITH  THE   LAMBS. 

argue  or  talk  for  argument's  sake.  If  he  was  indif- 
ferent to  the  question,  he  was  silent. 

"  The  supper  of  cold  meat,  on  these  occasions, 
was  always  on  the  side-table  ;  not  very  formal,  as 
may  be  imagined  ;  and  every  one  might  rise,  when 
it  suited  him,  and  cut  a  slice  or  take  a  glass  of  porter, 
without  reflecting  on  the  abstinence  of  the  rest  of 
the  company.  Lamb  would,  perhaps,  call  out  and 
bid  the  hungry  guest  help  himself  without  cere- 
mony. After  the  game  was  won  (and  lost)  the  ring 
of  the  cheerful  glasses  announced  that  punch  or 
brandy  and  water  had  become  the  order  of  the 
night.     .     . 

"  Politics  were  rarely  discussed  amongst  them. 
Anecdotes,  characteristic,  showing  the  strong  and 
weak  points  of  human  nature,  were  frequent  enough. 
But  politics  (especially  party  politics)  were  seldom 
admitted.  Lamb  disliked  them  as  a  theme  for  even- 
ing talk  ;  he  perhaps  did  not  understand  the  sub- 
ject scientifically.  And  when  Hazlitt's  impetuosity 
drove  him,  as  it  sometimes  did,  into  fierce  expres- 
sions upon  public  affairs,  these  were  usually  re- 
ceived in  silence  ;  and  the  matter  thus  raised  up 
for  assent  or  controversy  was  allowed  to  drop. 

"Lamb's  old  associates  are  now  dead.  '  They  that 
lived  so  long,'  as  he  says,  'and  flourished  so  steadily, 
arc  all  crumbled  away.'  The  beauty  of  these  even- 
ings was,  that  every  one  was  placed  upon  an  easy 
level.  No  one  out-topped  the  others.  No  one — 
not  even  Coleridge — was  permitted  to  out-talk  the 
rest.  No  one  was  allowed  to  hector  another,  or  to 
bring  his  own  grievances  too  prominently  forward, 
so  as  to  disturb  the  harmony  of  the  night.     Every 


EVENINGS    WITH  THE  LAMBS.  2/3 

one  had  a  right  to  speak,  and  to  be  heard  ;  and  no 
one  was  ever  trodden  or  clamored  down  (as  in 
some  large  assemblies)  until  he  had  proved  that 
he  was  not  entitled  to  a  hearing,  or  until  he  had 
abused  his  privilege.  I  never,  in  all  my  life,  heard 
so  much  unpretending  good  sense  talked,  as  at 
Charles  Lamb's  social  parties.  Often  a  piece  of 
sparkling  humor  was  shot  out  that  illuminated  the 
whole  evening.  Sometimes  there  was  a  flight  of 
high  and  earnest  talk,  that  took  one  half  way  to- 
wards the  stars." 

The  same  scenes  are  thus  described  by  Talfourd, 
in  his  "  Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb  :" 

"  Now  turn  to  No.  4  Inner  Temple  Lane,  at  ten 
o'clock,  when  the  sedater  part  of  the  company  are 
assembled,  and  the  happier  stragglers  are  dropping 
in  from  the  play.  Let  it  be  any  autumn  or  winter 
month,  when  the  fire  is  blazing  steadily,  and  the 
clean-swept  hearth  and  whist-tables  speak  of  the 
spirit  of  Mrs.  Battle,  and  serious  looks  require  'the 
rigor  of  the  game.'  The  furniture  is  old-fashioned 
and  worn  ;  the  ceiling  low,  and  not  wholly  un- 
stained by  traces  of  'the  great  plant,'  though  now 
virtuously  forborne  :  but  the  Hogarths,  in  narrow 
black  frames,  abounding  in  infinite  thought,  humor, 
and  pathos,  enrich  the  walls  ;  and  all  things  wear 
an  air  of  comfort  and  hearty  English  welcome. 
Lamb  himself,  yet  unrelaxed  by  the  glass,  is  sitting 
with  a  sort  of  Quaker  primness  at  the  whist-table, 
the  gentleness  of  his  melancholy  smile  half  lost  in 
his  intentness  on  the  game  ;  his  partner,  the  author 
of  '  Political  Justice  '  (the  majestic  expression  of 
his  large  head  not  disturbed  by  disproportion  of 
III.— 18 


274  EVENINGS    WITH  THE  LAMBS. 

his  comparatively  diminutive  stature),  is  regarding 
his  liand  with  a  philosophic  but  not  a  careless  eye  ; 
Captain  Burney,  only  not  venerable  because  so 
young  in  spirit,  sits  between  them  ;  and  H.  C.  R., 
who  alone  now  and  then  breaks  the  proper  silence, 
to  welcome  some  incoming  guest,  is  his  happy  part- 
ner— true  winner  in  the  game  of  life,  whose  leisure 
achieved  early,  is  devoted  to  his  friends !  At  an- 
other table,  just  beyond  the  circle  which  extends 
from  the  fire,  sit  another  four.  The  broad,  burly, 
jovial  bulk  of  John  Lamb,  the  Ajax  Telamon  of  the 
slender  clerks  of  the  old  South  Sea  House,  whom 
he  sometimes  introduces  to  the  rooms  of  his  younger 
brother,  surprised  to  learn  from  them  that  he  is 
growing  famous,  confronts  the  stately  but  courte- 
ous Alsager  ;  while  P.,  '  his  few  hairs  bristling '  at 
gentle  objurgation,  watches  his  partner  M.  B., 
dealing  with  '  soul  more  white  '  than  the  hands  of 
which  Lamb  once  said,  'M.,  if  dirt  were  trumps, 
what  hands  you  would  hold  !'  In  one  corner  of  the 
room,  you  may  see  the  pale,  earnest  countenance 
of  Charles  Lloyd,  who  is  discoursing  '  of  fate,  free- 
will, fore-knowledge  absolute,'  with  Leigh  Hunt  ; 
and,  if  you  choose  to  listen,  you  will  scarcely  know 
which  most  to  admire — the  severe  logic  of  the  mel- 
ancholy reasoner,  or  its  graceful  evasion  by  the 
tricksome  fantasy  of  the  joyous  poet.  Basil  Mon- 
tague, gentle  enthusiast  in  the  cause  of  humanity, 
which  he  has  lived  to  see  triumphant,  is  pouring 
into  the  outstretched  ear  of  George  Dyer  some 
tale  of  legalized  injustice,  whicli  the  recipient  is 
vainly  endeavoring  to  comprehend.  Soon  the  room 
fills  ;  in  slouches  Hazlitt  from  the  theatre,  v.^iere  his 


EVENINGS    WITH  THE  LAMBS.  2/5 

Stubborn  anger  for  Napoleon's  defeat  at  Waterloo 
has  been  softened  by  Miss  Stephens's  angelic  notes, 
which  might  chase  anger,  and  grief,  and  fear,  and 
sorrow,  and  pain  from  mortal  or  immortal  minds  ; 
Kenney,  with  a  tremulous  pleasure,  announces  that 
there  is  a  crowded  house  to  the  ninth  representa- 
tion of  his  new  comedy,  of  whicli  Lamb  lays  down 
his  cards  to  inquire  ;  or  Ayrton,  mildly  radiant, 
whispers  the  continual  triumph  of  '  Don  Giovanni,' 
for  which  Lamb,  incapable  of  opera,  is  happy  to 
take  his  word.  Now  and  then  an  actor  glances  on 
us  from  '  the  rich  Cathay  '  of  the  world  behind  the 
scenes,  with  news  of  its  brighter  human-kind,  and 
with  looks  reflecting  the  public  favor — Liston,  grave 
beneath  the  weight  of  the  town's  regards — or  Miss 
Kelly,  unexhausted  in  spirit  by  alternating  the 
drolleries  of  high  farce  with  the  terrible  pathos  of 
melodrama — or  Charles  Kemble  mirrors  the  chivalry 
of  thouglit,  and  ennobles  the  party  by  bending  on 
them  looks  beaming  with  the  aristocracy  of  nature. 
Meanwhile  Becky  lays  the  cloth  on  the  side-table, 
under  the  direction  of  the  most  quiet,  sensible,  and 
kind  of  women — who  soon  compels  the  younger 
and  more  hungry  of  the  guests  to  partake  largely 
of  the  cold  roast  lamb  or  boiled  beef,  the  heaps  of 
smoking  roasted  potatoes,  and  the  vast  jug  of  por- 
ter, often  replenished  from  the  foaming  pots,  which 
the  best  tap  of  Fleet  Street  supplies.  Perfect  free- 
dom prevails,  save  when  the  hospitable  pressure  of 
the  mistress  excuses  excess  ;  and  perhaps,  the  phys- 
ical enjoyment  of  tlie  play-goer  exhausted  Avith 
pleasure,  or  of  the  author  jaded  with  the  labor  of 
the  brain,  is  not  less  than  that  of  the  guests  at  the 


276  EVENINGS    WITH  THE  LAMBS. 

most  charming  of  aristocratic  banquets.  As  the  hot 
water  and  its  accompaniments  appear,  and  the  se- 
verities of  whist  relax,  the  light  of  conversation 
thickens  :  Hazlitt,  catching  the  influence  of  the 
spirit  from  which  he  has  lately  begun  to  abstain, 
utters  some  fine  criticism  with  struggling  emphasis  ; 
Lamb  stammers  out  puns  suggestive  of  wisdom,  for 
happy  Barron  Field  to  admire  and  echo  ;  the  va- 
rious driblets  of  talk  combine  into  a  stream,  while 
Miss  Lamb  moves  gently  about  to  see  that  each 
modest  stranger  is  duly  served  ;  turning,  now  and 
then,  an  anxious  loving  eye  on  Charles,  which  is 
softened  into  a  half-humorous  expression  of  resig- 
nation to  inevitable  fate,  as  he  mixes  his  second 
tumbler  !  " 


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Southey,  and  Coleridge  to  Matilda  Betham. 

Froude  (James  Anthony).  Thomas  Carlyle.  A  History 
of  the  First  Forty  Years  of  his  Life.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Lon- 
don and  New  York,  1882. 

Thomas  Carlyle.     A  History  of  his  Life  in  London. 

2  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1884. 

Fuller  (Hiram).  Sparks  from  a  Locomotive,  or  Life 
and  Liberty  in  Europe.     i2mo.     New  York,  1859. 

Gillies  (Robert  Pearce).  Memoirs  of  a  Literary  Vet- 
eran.    3  vols.,  i2mo.     London,  1854. 

Gillman  (James).  Life  of  S.  T.  Coleridge.  Vol.  I.  8vo. 
London,  1838.     (Only  one  volume  was  published.) 

Graves  (Robert  Percival).  Recollections  of  Words- 
worth. Afternoon  Lectures  on  Literature  and  Art. 
Vol.  V.  i2mo.     London,  1869. 

Greville  (Charles  C.  F.).  A  Journal  of  the  Reigns  of 
King  George  IV.  and  King  William  IV.  Edited  by 
Henry  Reeve.     3  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1874. 

Grundy  (Francis  H.).     Pictures  of  the  Past.     London, 

1879. 
Hall  (Samuel  C).     A  Book  of  Memories  of  Great  Men 

and  Women  of  the  Age.     4to.     London,  1876. 
Retrospect  of  a  Long  Life.    8vo.     London  and  New 

York,  1883. 
Hawthorne   (Nathaniel).     Our  Old  Home  :  A  Series 

of  English  Sketches.       i6mo.      Boston  :    Ticknor   & 

Fields,  1863. 


282  LIST   OF    WORKS    QUOTED. 

Hawthorne  (Nathaniel).  Passages  from  English  Note- 
books. 2  vols.,  i2mo.  Boston:  Fields,  Osgood  & 
Co.,  1870. 

Haydon  (Frederick  W.).  Benjamin  Robert  Haydon  ; 
Correspondence  and  Table  Talk,  with  a  Memoir. 
2vols.,8vo.     London,  1876. 

Hazlitt  (William).  Literary  Remains.  2  vols.,  8vo. 
London,  1836. 

The  Plain  Speaker  :  Opinions  on  Books,  Men,  and 

Things.     2  vols.,  Svo.     London,  1S26. 

The  Spirit  of  the  Age.     Svo.     London,  1825. 


Hazlitt  (William  Carew).  INIemoirs  of  William  Haz- 
litt.    2  vols.,  i2mo.     London,  1867. 

Hemans  (Felicia  D.).  Poetical  Works.  With  a  Memoir 
by  her  Sister,  Mrs.  Hughes.  7  vols.,  i2mo.  London, 
1839. 

Hogg  (James).  Poetical  W^orks.  With  Autobiography. 
5  vols.,  i6mo.     Glasgow,  183S-1840. 

Hood  (Thomas).     Works.    4  vols.,    i2mo.     New  York, 

1852-53- 
Horne  (Richard  Hengist).    A  New  Spirit  of  the  Age. 

2  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1844. 

Hughes  (Thomas).  Memoirof  Daniel  Macmillan.  i2mo. 
London,  1882. 

Hunt  (James  Henry  Leigh).  Autobiography  and  Remi- 
niscences.    3  vols.,  i6mo.     London,  1850. 

Correspondence.  Edited  by  his  Eldest  Son.   2  vols., 

i2mo.     London,  1862. 

Hunt  (Thornton).  Article  upon  Leigh  Hunt.  Corn- 
}iill Magazine,  January,  i860. 

Article  upon  Leigh  Hunt.  Atlantic  Monthly,  Feb- 
ruary, 1863. 

{editor).    Autobiography  of  L.  Hunt.     i2mo.     Lon- 


don, i860. 
Ireland  (Alexander).     List  of  the  Writings  of  William 
Hazlitt  and  Leigh  Hunt,  etc.     Svo.     London,  1S68. 


LIST   OF    WORKS    QUOTED.  283 

Jerdan  (Wm.).     Men  I  have  Known.    8vo.    Loudon,  1866. 

Knight  (Charles).  Passages  of  a  Working  Life  during 
Half  a  Century.     3  vols.,  Svo.     London,  1S64-65. 

Lamb  (Charles).  Elia.  Essays  which  have  appeared 
under  that  signature  in  the  London  Magazine.  i2nio. 
London,  1823. 

Leslie  (Chas.  Robert).  Autobiographical  Recollections. 
Edited  by  Tom  Taylor.    2  vols.,  i2mo.     London,  i860. 

L'Estrange  (Rev.  A.  G.).  The  Literary  Life  of  the 
Rev.  Wm.  Harness.     London,  1870. 

Lockhart  (John  Gibson).  Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kins- 
folk.    3  vols.,  Svo.     Edinburgh,  1819. 

Mackay  (Charles).  Forty  Years'  Recollections,  from 
1830  to  1870.     2  vols.,  Svo.     London,  1877. 

Mackenzie  (Robert  Shelton).  Life  of  Charles  Dickens. 
i2mo.     Philadelphia,  1870. 

Martineau  (Harriet).  Autobiography.  Edited  by  M. 
W.  Chapman.  2  vols.,  Svo.  Boston  :  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  1877. 

MiLNES  (Richard  Monckton,  Lord  Houghton).  Ad- 
dress Delivered  in  1869. 

Moore  (Thomas).  Memoirs,  Journal,  and  Correspond- 
ence. Edited  by  Lord  John  Russell.  S  vols.,  Svo. 
London,  1S53-56. 

Myers  (Frederick  W.  H.).  Wordsworth.  i2mo.  Lon- 
don and  New  York,  1881.  (English  Men  of  Letters. 
Edited  by  John  Morley.) 

New  Monthly  Magazine,  1S30.  Anonymous  article 
(attributed  to  Barry  Cornwall)  upon  Hazlitt. 

Patmore  (Peter  George).  My  Friends  and  Acquaint- 
ance.    3  vols.,  Svo.     London,  1854. 

Paul(Rev.  Chas.  Kegan).  William  Godwin:  His  Friends 
and  Contemporaries.     2  vols.,  Svo.     London,  1876, 

Procter  (Bryan  Waller).  Article  upon  Charles  Lamb. 
Athenceu7n,  January,  1835. 

Autobiographical     Fragment,     and     Biographical 


284  LIST   OF    WORKS    QUOTED. 

Notes,  with  Sketches  of  Contemporaries,  &c.  Edited 
by  C.[oventry]  P.  [atmore]     i2mo.     London,  1877, 

Procter  (Bryan  Waller.)  Charles  Lamb  ;  a  Memoir. 
8vo.     London,  1866. 

Quarterly  Review,  August,  1834,  Anonymous  article 
upon  Coleridge. 

Robinson  (Henry  Crabb).  Diary,  Reminiscences,  and 
Correspondence.  Edited  by  T.  Sadler.  3  vols.,  8vo. 
London,  1869. 

SouTHEY  (Robert)  and  Caroline  Bowles.  Correspond- 
ence. Edited  by  Edward  Dowden.  8vo.  Dublin  and 
London,  1881. 

Spectator,  September  3,  1859.  Article  upon  Leigh  Hunt. 
By  E.  O.  (Edmund  Oilier?) 

Talfourd  (Thomas  Noon).  Final  Memorials  of  Charles 
Lamb.     2  vols.,  i2mo.     London,  1848. 

Letters    of  Charles  Lamb.     With  a  Sketch  of  His 

Life.     2  vols.,  i2mo.     London,  1837. 

TiCKNOR  (George).  Life,  Letters,  and  Journals.  Edited  by 
G.  S.  Hillard  and  Others.     2  vols.,  8vo.    Boston,  1876. 

Twichell  (Rev.  Joseph  H.).  Article  upon  Lamb.  Scrib- 
iier's  Magazine,  March,  1876. 

Watts  (Alaric  Alfred).  Alaric  Watts.  A  Narrative 
of  His  Life.     2  vols.,  8vo.     London,  1884. 

Westwood  (Thomas).  Article  upon  Lamb.  Notes  and 
Queries,  September,  1866. 

Willis  (Nathaniel  Parker).  Famous  Persons  and 
Places.      i2mo.     New  York  :  Charles   Scribner,   1854. 

Pencillings  by  the  Way.   i2mo.   New  York  :  Charles 

Scribner,  1853. 

Wordsworth  (Rev.  Christopher).  Memoirs  of  Will- 
iam Wordsworth.  Edited  by  Henry  Reed.  2  vols., 
i6mo.     Boston  :  Ticknor  &  Fields,  1851. 

Young  (Rev.  Julian  Charles).  A  Memoir  of  Charles 
M.  Young,  Tragedian,  with  Extracts  from  his  Son's 
Journal.     i2mo.     London  and  New  York,  1871. 


INDEX. 


Authors  Quoted. 

Allibone,  Samuel  A.,  on  Words- 

zvortk,  33 
Anonymous,  o>i   Coleridge,  71, 

77.  90 

on  Hazlitt,  ix,  186 

on  Hunt,  viii,  226,  251 

Balmanno,     Mary,    on    Lamb, 

170,  171 
Brown,  Dr.  John,  on  Coleridge, 

74 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  on  Coleridge, 

67,  71,  82-86 

on  Hunt,  248-251 

on  Latnb,  123 

on  Procter,  264 

on  Wordsworth,  11,  17,  18, 

21,  30,  31 
Carlyon,  Clement,  on  Coleridge, 

103 

Clarke,    Charles    Cowden,    on 

Lamb,  123 

on   Wordsworth,  40 

Ckrke,  Charles  and  Mary  C, 
on  Hazlitt,  194,  213 

on  Hunt,  228 

on  Lamb,  164 

Clarke,  Mary  Cowden,  on  Cole- 
ridge, 68,  103 

oti  Hwit,  227,  231 

on  Lamb,  139,  140 

on  Procter,  265 

Coleridge,  Hartley,  on  Words- 
worth, 35  note 

Coleridge,  Henry  N.,  on  Cole- 
ridge, 88 


Authors  Quoted. — {Canted.') 
Coleridge,  John  T. ,  on  Words- 

worth,  44 
Coleridge,  Samuel  T.,  autobio- 
graphic, 61,  62,  69,  74,  107 

on  Hazlitt,  209 

on  Lamb,  126,  158,  159 

on  Wordsworth,  34 

Coleridge,   Sara,  on   Coleridge, 

103,  104 
"  Cornwall,  Barry,"  see  Procter, 

Bryan  W. 
Cottle,  Joseph,  o«  Coleridge, 'jq, 

99.  104 
Davy,  Lady,  on  Wordsworth,  45 
De  Quincey,  Thomas,  autobio- 
graphic, 153,  154 

on    Coleridge,   64,    86,  87, 

93,  98,  100,  loi,  105 

on  Hazlitt,  208 

on  Lamb,  15,  127,  129,  140, 


142,  143,  150,  153,  169 
—  on  Sou  they ,  27 

oti    Wordsworth,  9,   13-16, 


26,  27,  28,  36-38 

De  Stael,  Madame,  on  Cole- 
ridge, 72 

Dibdin,  Thomas  F.,  on  Cole- 
ridge, 89 

Dickens,  Charles,  oti  Hunt,  243, 
247 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  on 
Wordsworth,  38,  46 

Fields,  James  T. ,  on  Hunt,  235 

on  Procter,  263,  267 

on  Wordsworth,  40 


286 


INDEX. 


Authors  Quoted. — {Confd.) 
Fitzgerald,  Percy,  on  Lamb,  157 
Forster,  John,  on  Hunt,  224,  233 

on  Lamb,  1 18 

Fox,  Caroline,  on  Coleridge,  107 

on  Wordsworth,   12,  20,  35 

7iote 
Fuller,  Hiram,  on  Hunt,  224 
Gillies,    Robert  P.,  on    Words- 

zvorth,  29 
Gillman,  James,  on    Coleridge, 

69,  98 
Graves,   Robert  P.,  on    Words- 
worth, 21,  25,  32,  47,  48,   50, 

51 
Greville.    Charles   C.     F.,    on 

Wordsworth,  12,  20 
Grundy,  Francis  H. ,  on  Hunt, 

223,  238-241 
Hall,  Samuel  C. ,  on   Coleridge, 

66,  105,  119 
o/i  Hunt,  221,  223,  224,  234, 

236,  246 

0)1  Lamb,  120 

on   Wordsworth,  II 

Flare,  Julius,  071  Lamb,  131 

on   Wordsworth,  0,1 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel,  on  Hunt, 

252 

on  Procter,  264 

Haydon,  Benjamin  R.,  on  Haz- 
litt,  199 

on  Hunt,  217,  237 

on  Lamb,  134 

Hazlitt,  William,  autobiograph- 
ic, 181,  200 

on  Byron,  229 

on  Coleridge,  31,  65,  79 

on  Hunt,  229 

on     Lamb,    125,    134,    143, 

144,  159 
on    Wordsworth,  10,  16,  24 


31.  32 
Hazlitt,  William  C,  on  Hazlitt, 

186,  188,  211,  212 
Hemans,  Felicia  D. ,  on  Words- 

ic'ort/i,  24,  49,  50 
Hogg,  James,  on  Wordsworth, 

43 
Hood,  Thomas,   on    Coleridge, 

79 

on  Latnb,  120,  137,  141 

Home,  Richard   H.,  on   Hunt, 

236 
on  Wordsworth,  34 


Authors  Quoted. — {Confd.) 
Hunt,     Leigh,    autobiographic, 

234,  236,  238-242,  249 

071  Coleridge,  65,  106 

on  La7)ib,  132,  133 

on   Wordsworth,  12 

Hunt,  Thornton,  on  Hunt,  221, 

222,   225,    226,    230-233,    240, 

243.  245,  246,  251 
Jerdan,  William,  on   Coleridge, 

66,  -jj,  97,  98,  102 

071   Wordsworth,  29 

Knight,  Charles,  071  Hunt,  t.q.^, 
Lamb,  Charles,  autobiographic, 

108,  132,  134, 139-142,  147-150, 

152,  153,  159,  160,  167,  171 
on    Coleridge,    57,    79,    92, 

102,  108 

on  Hazlitt,  214 

071  Hunt,  226 

071   Wordsworth,'!^ 

Landor,     Walter    Savage,    on 


Lat/tb,  114 
■  on  WordsK'orth, 


46 


Le  Grice,  Charles  V. ,  on  La7/tb, 
117 

Leslie,  Charles  R. ,  07t  Cole- 
ridge, 70,  89 

071  Lamb,  139,  158 

L'Estrange,  A.  G. ,  071  Cole- 
ridge, 74,  97 

Lockhart,  John  G.,  on  Cole- 
ridge, 64 

Mackay  Charles,  071  Words- 
worth, ofi. 

Mackenzie,  R.  Shclton,  071 
Dickens,  27 

071.   Wordsworth,  orj 

Macmillan,  Daniel,  071  VVo/'ds- 
zi'orth,  41 

Martineau,  Harriet,  on  Procter, 
266 

on  Wo7-dsworth,  35,  39,  52 

Milman,  Henry  H. ,  07t  Cole- 
ridge, 76 

Milnes,  Richard  jMonckton, 
Lord    Houghton,    o/i    LIu7it, 

23s 
Moore,    Thomas,    on    Hazlitt, 

211 

on  Wordsworth ,  17,  26,  45 

Oilier,   Ednuind   (?),  on  Hu/it, 

232 
Patinore,  Coventry,  o/i  Procter, 
262,  266-268 


INDEX. 


1S7 


Authors  Quoted. — (^Cont'd.) 

Patmore,  Peter  G.,  on  Hazlitt, 
182,  189,  191,  195-198,  201- 
207,  209 

on  Lamb,  121,  131,  136,  147, 

159-161 

on  Procter,  265 

Procter,  Bryan  W.,  on  Cole- 
ridge, 66,  80,  81,  96,  100 

on   HazUtt,   165,    166,   185, 

186,  188,  200,  212,  213,  272 

on  Hunt,  165,  166,  223,  226, 

231,  233,  238 

on   Lamb,    118,    124,    125, 

128,  129,  131,  13s.  144.  146, 
148-151,  165,  166,  169,  172, 
173,  271 

on   Wordsworth,  9,  32 


Authors  Quoted. — {Confd.) 
Wordsworth,       Dorothy,       on 

Wordsworth,  53 
Wordsworth,  William,  autobio- 
graphic, 9,  20,  25,  39,  40,  42,  53 

on  Coleridge,  33,  77,  87,  96, 

146 


Robinson,     Henry    Crabb,    on 
Coleridge,  72,  76,  91 

on  Hazlitt,  189,  194 

on  Lamb  146,  148,  173 

on  Wordstuorfh,  44,  48 

Rogers,  Samuel,  on   Coleridge, 

77 

on  Wordsworth,  47 

Russel,  J.  F. ,  on  Lamb,  156 
Southey,  Robert,  on  Coleridge, 

69,  96 

on  Wordsworth,   24    iiotc, 

27,  30  note 

Talfourd,  Thomas  N.,  on  Cole- 
ridge, 70,  78,  108 
on  Hazlitt,  185,  187,  276 

on    Lamb,    119,    126,     128, 

155.    159.    165,    167,   170,    172, 

273 
Ticknor,   George,    on    Hazlitt, 

191 
Twichell,  Joseph  H.,  on  Lamb, 

128,  168 
Walker,  Isaac,  oti  Wordsworth, 

50 

Watts,  Mrs.  Alaric,  on    Words- 
worth, 22,  39,  40 

Westwood,  Thomas,  on  Lamb, 

145 
Willis,  N.  P.,  on  Lamb,  151 

on  Procter,  266 

on  Wordsworth,  40 

Wilson,  John,  on  Campbell,  24 

on  Coleridge,  72 

on  Wordsworth,  24,  40 

Wordsworth,  Dorothy,  on  Cole- 
ridge, 63 


on  Latnb,  146,  149 
Yarnall,  Ellis,  on    Wordsworth, 

19 
Young,  Julian  C. ,  on  Coleridge, 

23.  34.  73<  74.  76,  94.  100.  loi 
on   Wordsworth,  23,  34,  45, 

73.  74.  95 

"Blackwood's  Magazine," 
scurrilous  abuse  of  Hazlitt  and 
Hunt  viii. 

Byron,  Lord,  characterized  by 
Hazlitt,  229 

Carlyle,  Jane  W.  ,  mentioned, 
248,  249 

Chronological  Tables:  Cole- 
ridge, 59  ;  general,  i  ;  Hazlitt, 
178  ;  Hunt,  219  ;  Lamb,  115  ; 
Procter,  262  ;  Wordsworth,  7 

Coleridge,  Hartley,  Words- 
worth's kindness  to,  52 

Coleridge,    Samuel    Taylor, 

55-109 
Abstraction,  mental,  93,  94,  105 

Affectionateness,  108 
Appearance,  57,  63-69,  90,  93- 

"Archangel  a  little  damaged," 

57 

Architecture,  indifference  to,  09 

Argument,  manner  of  conduct- 
ing, 72,  78 

Books,  habit  of  annotating,  loi, 
102,  104 

Boyhood,  61-63 

'■  Caliban,"  opinion  of,  75 

Castle-building,  104 

Children,  love  of,  75 

Childhood,  61-63 

Chronological  table,  59 

Cleanliness,  69 

Consecutiveness,  logical,  86-88 

Conversation,  23,  70-90,  95,  100, 
102,  109 

discursiveness   of,    75,  80, 

81,  82,  84,  86 

eloquence  of,   76,   78,   86, 

89,  90,  109 


288 


INDEX. 


Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor. — 

Con%-ersation,    found    unintel- 
ligible, 73,  76,  77,  79,  82 

logical  consecutiveness  of, 

86-88 

method,  lack  of,  82,  84,  86 

obscurity  of,  'jj,,  76,  "Jt,  79, 

82,  84 

reality,  lack  of,  82 

wit,  contradictory  reports 


about,  76,  82,  90,  102 
Correspondence,  105 
Criticism  of  paintings,  100 
Disciples,  devotion  of  85 
Discursiveness,   75,   80,  81,  82, 

84,  86,  91,  92 
Disputant,  as  a,  72,  78 
Dress,  65,  69,  90,  94 
Egotism,  freedom  from,  81 
Eloquence,  76,  78,   86,  89,  90, 

109 
Engagements,     disregard    for, 

98,  105 
Energy,  lack  of,  62,  96,  105 
Eyes,  conflicting  reports  about, 

64,  66-68,  90 
Flowers,  cultivates,  106 
Firmness,  lack  of,  96,  105 
Forgetfulness,  81,  103,  104 
French,  hatred  of  the,  loi 
Gait,  67,  68,  95 

Games,  indifference  to,  in  boy- 
hood, 61,  62 
Gilhnan,  James,   life  with,  77, 

85,  97.  106 

Headache,  freedom  from,  103 

Health,  90,  96,  98,  103,  107 

Height,  93 

Highgate,  life  at,  67,  68,  77,  85, 
97,  106 

Hours,  100 

Humor,  82,  90,  102 

Inactivity,  62,  67,  96 

Indecision,  67,  96,  105 

Irregular  hours,  100 

Irving,  Edward,  devotion  of, 
8; 

'■  K  i  ngdom-of-Heavenites,  "C.  's 
name  for  children,  75 

"  Kubla  Khan,"  comment  up- 
on, 71 

L,  sounds  the  letter  in  would, 
etc.,  70,  86 

Lamb,  compared  with,  65 


Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor. — 

{Confd.) 
Lamb,  intimacy  with,  108,  109, 

132,  165 
Languages,  bad  pronunciation 

of  foreign,  loi 
Laughter,  deficient  in,  82 
Leading  events  of  his  life,  59 
Lecturer,  as  a,  91,  92 
Letter  to  his  godson,  107 
Locality,    defective    sense    of, 

105 
Logical  consecutiveness,  86-88 
Memory,  80,  103,  104 
Mental  abstraction,  93,  94,  105 
Method,  lack  of,  82,  84,  86,  91 

92,  96 
Mind  conquering  body,  90,  91 
Monologue  characteristic  of  his 

talk,  72,  'jj   79,  84,  109 
Montague,    Basil,    enthusiasm 

of,  8s 
Music,  71,  100,  loi 
Neatness,  69 

Obscurity,  73,  76,  'jj,  79,  82,  84 
Old  age,  66-68,  85,  90,  91,  106, 

107 
"  Om-m-mject     and     sum-m- 

mject,"  71 
Opium,  97-99 
Pain,  endurance  of,  96 
Painting,  ignorance  of  the  art 

of,  100 
Precocity,  61,  62 
Prejudices,  loi 

Preparations  for  talk,  74,  82,  83 
Procrastination,  96,  104,  105 
Pronunciation,  70,  71,  86 

of  foreign  languages,  loi 

Punctuality,  lack  of,  105 
Puns,  not  superior  to,  103 
Quoted,  61-63,  ^9'  74>  75'    ^S, 

loi,  105,  107,  126,  158,159,209 
Reading  aloud,  71,  97 
Reading  in  childhood,  61 
Recitation,  71,  106,  128 
Religious  views,  106,  107 
Reticence  about  his  own  affairs, 

81 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  lectures 

upon,  91,  92 
Schlegel,  unable  to  understand 

C.'s  German,  loi 
Shakespeare,  lectures  upon,  91, 

92 


INDEX. 


289 


Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor. — 

{Cont'd.) 
Shakespeare,  views  about,  75 
Sing-song  utterance,  71,  82 
Snuff-taking,  67,  69 
Society,    demeanor   in,    Ti-TS^ 

78,    80-82,   86,  90,  91,  93-95, 

105,  106 
Sounds   tiie  letter  1,  in  ivottld, 

etc. ,  70,  86 
Story-telling,  90,  102 
Sympathy,  craving  for,  72,  73 
"  Taking  the  sting  out  of  him," 

33 
Temper,  in  childhood,  62,  63 
Tobacco,  67,  6g,  70 
Vanity,  in  childhood,  62 
Veracity,  146 
Voice,  70,  71,  78,  80,  89,  90,  96, 

102 
Walk,  peculiarity  of,  67,  68,  95 
Weakness,  physical,  97 
Will,  weakness  of,  67,  96, 105 
Wit,      contradictory      reports 

about,  76,  82,  90,  102 
Wordsworth,    compared    with, 

23.  31.  74.  95 
intercourse   with,    23,   34, 

35.  73.  95 
Work,     plans     for,     unaccom- 
plished, 96,  104 

"  COWDEN    WITH    THE    TuFT," 

139 

Dickens,  Charles,  and 

Wordsworth,  their  opinions 

of  each  other,  27,  28 
Dowton,   William,    his    "  Sir 

Anthony  Absolute,"  228 
"  East-wind  made  Flesh,"  235 
Evenings  with  the    Lambs, 

271 
Godwin,  William,  273 
"  Harold  Skimpole,"  modelled 

upon  Leigh  Hunt,  244 

Hazlitt,  William,  175-214. 

Abstinence,  the   trials  of,  196- 

198 
Alcoholic   stimulants,    195-198, 

276 
Amusements,  196-198,  205,  210, 

265,  274 
Appearance,  182-186,  190,  191, 

199,  200,  204,  208,  210,  213 
Argument,  manner  in,  186,  188 


Hazlitt,  William.— (C^'/z/V.) 
Awaiting  sentence,  190,  191 
Awkwardness,  184-186,  190, 
Barmecide  feasts,  197 
Bashfulness,  185,  186,  187,  189 
Blocking  the  way,  212 
Blow,  indifference  to  a,  211 
Ceremoniousness,  211 
Childhood,  181,  182 
Children  fondness  for,  209 
Chronological  table,  178 
Compassionateness,  161 
Composition,    facility   in,    192, 

194 
Conversation,  166,  184-189, 191, 

212,  265,  272,  276 
Conviviality,  187,  188,  197,  265, 

274,  276 
Country,  influence  of  the,  210 
Criticism,  sensitiveness  to,  2or, 

202 
Dejection,  184,  190,191,  198,204 
Deliberation,  annoying,  212 
"  Demon  look,  the,"  183,  204 
IJespair,  aspect  of,  190,  191 
Diet,  195-197 
Dress,  185,  186,  189,  200 
Epigrammatic  sayings,  191 
"  Essay  upon  Laws,"  written  in 

boyhood,  182 
Expression,   difficulty    of,    1S7, 

189 
Formality,  211 
French  revolution,  influence  of 

the,  207,  208 
Friends,    appreciation    of   his, 

188 
Gait,  184,  185,  210,  274 
Gentleness,  213 
Good-fellowship,  187,  188,  197, 

265,  274,  276 
Hallucinations,  199-203 
Handwriting,  192,  194 
Health,  183,  194-196,  211,  214 
Height,  184,  185 
Hours,  irregular,  195,  196,  210 
Hunt,  compared  with,  165,  166 

intercourse  with,  166 

Improvidence,  198 
Irascibility,  183,  204-209,  272 
Irregular  habits,  195,  196,  210 
Kean,    Edmund,    resemblance 

to,  183,  184 
Lamb,  Charles,  compared  with, 

165,  166 


290 


INDEX. 


Hazlitt,  William.— (C(W/V.) 

Lamb,  Charles,  intercourse 
with,  132,  166,  214,  272,  276 

Lamb,  John,  knocked  down  by, 
213 

Lassitude,  184,  185,  190,  210 

Leading  events  of  his  life,  178 

Lecturer,  as  a,  194 

Letters,  extract  from  his  preco- 
cious, 181 

"Liber Amoris,"  origin  of,  199, 
200 

Loneliness,  206 

Manuscript,  appearance  of,  194 

Method,  lack  of,  198 

Milton,  his  house  occupied  by 
Hazlitt,  191 

Modesty,  186,  187 

Napoleon,  enthusiasm  for,  200, 
204,  207,  275 

Ostracized,  fancying  himself, 
201-203 

Out-of-doors  life,  194,  210 

Pedestrianism,  194,  210 

Personal  character,  a  faulty 
judge  of,  205 

Politics,  207,  208,  212,  213,  272 

Praise,  indifference  to,  165 

Precocity,  181,  182 

Priestley,  Dr.,  precocious  writ- 
ing about,  182 

Procter,  Bryan  W. ,  intimacy 
with,  265 

Quoted,    10,    16,   24,  31,  32,  65, 

79,    125,    134,    143,    144,    159, 

181,  182,  191,  200,    201,   211, 

212,  229 
Reserve,  lack  of,  199-201 
Sanity  questioned,  199-201 
Self-consciousness,     184,     185, 

201,  202,  204 
Self-control,  196,  197 
lack  of,   183,  199-201,  204- 

207 
Selfishness,  203 
Sensitiveness  to  criticism,  201, 

202 
Servants,  dread  of,  185 
Shaking  hands,  manner  of,  190 

vote 
Shyness,  185-187,  189,  196 
Sincerity,  213 
Slovenliness,  185,  186,  189 
Society,  demeanor  in,  1S3-191, 

196-206,  208-212,  265,  272,  276 


Hazlitt,  William.— (CW/V/.) 
Table  traits,  186,  188,  197,  198, 

209,  265,  272,  276 
Tea,  fondness  for,  195,  196,  213 
Telling  the  story  of  his  woes, 

199-201 
Temper,  183,  186,  198,  204-209, 

211,  212,  272 
Tennis,  violence  in  playing,  205 
Theatre,  fondness  for  the,  196 
Tolerance,  161 
Town  and  country,  194,  210 
''Ugolino,"     likened      to     Sir 

Joshua  Reynolds's,  190 
Untidiness,  185,  186,  189 
Vehemence,   199-201,  204,  205, 

213,  272 
Violence,  205,  207,  212 
Voice,  188,  194 
Walker,      Sarah,       infatuation 

about,  199-201 
Walking,  194,  210 
Winterslow    Heath,  a  favorite 

haunt,  193,  194 
Work,  estimation  of   his  own, 

i6s 

methods  of,  191-194,  198 

Work-room,  191 

W^riting,  dislike  for,  193,  198 

Hunt,  James  Henry  Leigh, 
215-258. 

Absorbed  in  literature,  232,  233, 

240 
Admiration,   love  of,   237,  238, 

255.  256 
Affectionateness,  221,  224,  227, 

234,  235,  237,  252,  257,  258 
Alchoholic  stimulants,  240 
Ambition,  nature  of  his,  234 
Animal  spirits,  221,  225,  229 
Appearance,   221-225,  248-250, 

252-254 
Argument,  manner  in,  227 
Arithmetic,  incapacity  for,  240, 

241 
Books,  231-233,  240 
Boyhood,  221,  225 
Business,    unfitness    for,    240- 

243.  247 
"  Byron,  Lord,  and  his  contem- 
poraries,'' 234  note 
Cabman,  adventure  with  a,  241 
Carlyle,    Thomas,    intercourse 

with,  24S-250 


INDEX. 


291 


Hunt,  James   Henry   Leigh. 

—{Cout'd.) 
Cheerfulness,  165,  225,  233,  235, 

243.  247-250,  256 
Chronological  table,  219 
Common  things,  delight  in,  227, 

229,  233,  236,  237,  242 
Composition,  slowness  in,  232 
Conscientiousness,      230,     231, 

242,  243,  245-248,  252 
Contemporaries,  treatment  of, 

233,  234  and  ?!Ote 
Conversation,  166,  225-228,  232, 

236,    238-240,    248-250,    253, 
254,  256,  257,  274 
Courage,  237,  245,  zjj  and  note, 

255 
Courtesy,    226,     227,    248-250, 

252 
Debts,    solicitude    about,    245, 

246 
Delicacy,  226,  237,  238,  255 
Dickens,  Charles,  his  explana- 
tion  as   to    "  Harold    Skim- 
pole,"  243-245 
Diet,  238-240 
Dramatic  powers,  228 
Dress,  223,  224,  233,  248-250 
Eccentricities  about  food,  238- 

240 
Egotism,  pleasant,  229 
Envy,  freedom  from,  233,  234 
Estimates  of  authors,  231 
Exercise,  physical,  240 
Fastidiousness,  238 

literary,  232 

Firmness,   231,    237,    245,    247, 

255 
Frankness,  229,  240,  256 
Friendliness,  221,  227,  252 
Gait,  221,  223 
George  IV.,  attack   upon,  247 

note 
"  Good,  a  superstition  of,"  235 
Goodfellowship,    221,    226-229, 

234,  248-250,  254,  256 
Gravity,  231,  242,  246,  257 
Hamlet,  likened  to,  247 
Hammersmith,  life  at,  224,  236, 

252-258 
"  Harold  Skimpole, "  243-245 
Hawthorne,    a  visit  from,  252- 

258 
Hazlitt.    compared    with,    165, 

166 


Hunt,   James   Henry   Leigh. 

—{Cont'd.) 

Hazlitt,  intercourse  with.  166 

Health,  226,  227,  242,  243 

Height,  221,  223 

Helplessness  in  practical  mat- 
ters, 240-243,  246,  247 

Home  life,  223,  224,  232,  233, 
235,  236,  238-240,  249,  250, 
252-258 

Honesty,  245,  246,  248 

Hospitality,  224,  250,  252-258 

Hours,  233 

Incapacity  for  practical  affairs, 
240-243,  246,  247 

Indignation,  expression  of,  231 

Industry,  232,  233,  247 

Irresolution,  246,  247 

Jealousy,    freedom  from,    233, 

234 
Kensington,  life  at,  238-240 
Lamb,  compared  with,  165,  166 

intercourse  with,  132,  166 

Laughter,  230,  250 
Leading  events  of  his  life,  219 
Listener,  a  good,  227 
Literature,    absorbed    in,    232, 

233,  240 

Luxury,  a  favorite,  238 

Mellowing  with  age,  251 

Memory,  231 

Mnnicry,  229 

Money,    bewilderment    about, 

240-242 
Music,  230,  231,  248 
Nature,  love  of,  236,  237 
Observation,  delicate  and  pene- 
trative, 254 
Old  age,  223,  224,  252-258 
Optimism,  234,  235,  248,  250 
Playfulness,  226,  244,  249 
Poverty,  235,  242,  243,  249,  250, 

252,  257 
Praise  estimate  of,  238,  255,  256 
Quoted    12,  65,    106,   132,  133, 

234,  236,  238-242,  249 
Reading,  231,  232 

aloud,  228 

Religion,  235,  236,  257 
Suav'ty,  224,  226,  229,  231,  233- 

235,  248-250,    252,  254,    256- 
258,  274 

School-days,  221 
Sensibility,  227,  237,  238,  253- 
256 


292 


INDEX. 


Hunt,  James   Henry  Leigh. 

—(^Cofit'd.) 
Shakespeare,  less  admired  than 

Spenser  and  Milton,  231 
Shyness,  226 
Simplicity,  221,   229,  236,    237, 

239,  241,  242,  251-256 
Singing,  230,  231 
"  Sir       Anthony       Absolute," 

dramatic  reading  of,  '228 
Smell,  no  sense  of,  238  vote 
Society,  demeanor  in,  221,224- 

231,  235-244,    248-250,    252- 
254.  256-258,  274 

Spenser,  his    favorite    author, 

231 
Stammering,  221,  225 
Story-telling,  228,  229 
Supersensitiveness,  238 
Temper,  231,  233,  234 
Truth,  234,  248 
Unselfishness,  234,  245,  252 
Vivacity,  221,  222,  225,  228,  229, 

232,  243,   244,  248,    253,  254, 
256 

Voice,  228,  230,  243,  248,  249 
Work,    methods    of,   223,    232, 

233 
Young,  treatment  of  the,  227 
Youthfulness  in  age,  253 

Irving,  Edward,  85 

Kean,  Edmund,  Hazlitt's  resem- 
blance to,  183,  184 

Kelly,  Fanny,  275 

Kemble,  Charles,  275 

"KublaKhan,"  comment  upon 
71 

Lamb,  Charles,  111-173, 

Action,  unfitted  for,  132 
Affectation,  freedom  from,  122, 

126,  138,  140-142 
Affectionateness,  118,   152,  153, 

158,  167-172 
Alcoholic   stimulants,    129-131, 

154,   155,   157,   163,   272,    273, 

275,  276 
Animals,  fondness  for,  164 
Antique,  love  of  the,   125,  143- 

145,  166 
Appearance,    15,  117-124,    132, 

151,  154-157.  171 
Audacity,  133,  134,  140,  142 
Bluntness,  playful,  140 
Books,  144,  14s,  162 


Lamb,  Charles. — (Cont'd.) 
Boyhood,  117,  157 
"  Boy-man,  a,"  141 
Children,  love  of,  157,  158 
Chronological  table,  115 
City  life,  love  of,  147-149,  157 
Clarke,  C.  and  M.  C,  intimacy 
^  with,  139,  140 
Coleridge,     "an      archangel," 

etc..  57,   136 

compared  with,  65 

intimacy   with,    108,    109, 

132,  165 
Commercial  life,  128 
Company  irksome  to  him,  163, 

164 
Compassionateness,    158,    160, 

161,  164,  167-169 
Conversation,  125-127,  134-142, 

147,    148,    152,    155-157,    159, 

166,  271,  272 
Conviviality,  130,  137,  151,  155, 

157,  271-276 
Courtesy,  143,  153,  161 
"  Cracking  a  jest  in  the  teeth 

of  a  ghost,''  133 
"  Delicacy  for  a  sheep-stealer," 

160 
physical,      117-120,      123, 

131,  132,  154,  155 
Diet,  129 
Dress,    118,   120,    123,  124,   151, 

156 
Dyer,  George,  hoax  upon,  133 
Excitability,  129-131,  146,   163, 

168 
Exclusiveness,    contempt    for, 

138 
Extravagance,  mental,  133,  134, 

137 

Fragilitv,  118-120,  123,  132,  154, 

155 
Friendliness,  139,  140,  151,  153, 

165,  167-169,  172 
Friends,  testing  his,  139 
Gait,  117,  120,  121,  123,  124 
Generosity,  159,  x6o,   165,  167- 

169 
Geniality,    130,    141,    151,    153, 

155-157,  271,  272,  275 
"Ghost,  cracking  a  jest  in  the 

teeth  of  a,"  133 
Goodfellowship,   130,   140,    141, 

151,   153,   155,   157,    162,    163, 

165,  172,  271-276 


INDEX. 


293 


Lamb,  Charles.— (Cw;/'c/.) 
Gravity,  122,  126,  135.  142,  I55i 

Handwriting,  128 

Haydon,  at  supper  with,  134 

Hazlitt,   compared    with,    165, 

166 
intercourse  with,  132,  166, 

214,  272,  276 
Height,  118,  123 
Hoaxes,  133,  146,  152 
Home   life,    137,    150-IS7.   IS9, 

162-164,  271-276 
Hospitality,    151-1S7.    162-165, 

168,  172,  271-276 
Humility,  143 
Humor,  characterized,  126, 133, 

135,  146 
examples  of,  132,  134-136, 

139.  140,   152,   160,   171,    271, 

274 
Hunt,  compared  with,  165,  166 

intercourse  with,  132,  166 

India  House,  life  at  the,  128 
Insanity,  145  twte,  149,  150 
Mary   Lamb's,    169,    170, 

172,  173 
Jewish   appearance,    117,    122, 

123 

Kindness,  ill-requited,  159,  160 
Lamb,   Mary,  insanity  of,  169, 

170,  172,  173 
jokes  at  her  expense,  152, 

171 
life  with,  118,  151-154,  156- 

157,  168-173,  271-276 
Leading  events  of  his  life,  115 
"  Legs,  immaterial,''  118,  120 
Letters  known  before  he  could 

speak,  157 
London,  love  of,  147-149 
Manner,  variety  of,  to  different 

friends,  132 
Munden,  fanciful  biography  of, 

133 
Music,  26,  128 

Nature,  how  regarded,  147-149 
Paradox,  love  of,  133 
Past,  devotion  to  the,  143-145. 

166 
Pedestrianism,  146,  149 
Pharisaism,  scorn  of,  142 
Phrenological  examination  of  a 

bore,  134 
Pictures,  149,  151,  156,  273 


Lamb,  Charles. — (Confd.') 
Politics,  dislike  for,  272 
Portraits  criticised,  157 
Precocity,  curious  instance  of, 

157 
Punch-shows,  liking  for,  158 
Puns,  addicted  to,  126,  127,  276 
Quoted,   X,  25,  57,  79,  92,  102, 

108,    124,    129,    132,    134-136, 

139-142,     147-150,    152,    153, 

157,    159,    160,   167,   168,  171, 

214,  226,  271,  272 
"  Rabbinical  look,"  122 
Rea  ling,  144,  145.  15°.  165 
Reading  aloud,  127,  128 
Recollections  of  a  fellow-clerk, 

128 
Relics,  treatment  of,  158 
Restlessness,  146,  153,  155,  161- 

163 
Reverence,  156,  159 
Sayings   of,  135,  136,  139,  140, 

142,  152,  159,  160,  271,  274 
Society,  demeanor  in,  125,  127, 

130,     132,    134-143.    151-157. 

159,    162-164,    167,  171,   271- 
!  276 

Scandal,  hatred  of,  138,  139 
School-days,  117 
Sensibihty,  135,  159,  164 
Sensitiveness,  133,  146 
Sentimentalism,     dislike     for, 

138,  139,  158 
Servants,  dread  of,  143 
"  Sheep-stealer,  a  delicacy  for 

a,"  160 
Shyness,  142 
Simplicity,   122,   126,    138,  140, 

141.  143 
Sincerity,     122,     138,    140-143, 

146 
Skiddaw,  admiration  of,  148 
Sleeping  after  dinner,  131,  154, 

155 
Smile,  118,  119,  121,  124 

Snuff,  125,  13s 

Stammering,  117,  125-127,  129, 

135.  157.  167 
"  Streets,    the   sweet    security 

of,"  147 
Superstitions,  attitude  toward, 

133 
Table  traits,  130,  134,  152-154 

Taciturnity,  125,  127 

Temper,  146 


294 


INDEX. 


Lamb,  Charles. — {Confd.') 
Tenderness,  ii8,  135,  152,  153, 
158-161,    164,    167-169,    172, 

173 
Testing  his  friends,  139 
Tobacco,  125,  131,  132,  15s 
Tolerance,  138,  158,  161 
Town  and  country,  147-149,  157 
Uproarious  play,  130,  134 
Veracity,  146 
Voice,  128,  157 
Walk,  peculiarity  of,   117,   120, 

121,  123,  124 
Walking,  146,  149 
Whimsicality,  133,  134,136,139, 

140,  145,  146,  152,  153,  171 
Whist,  271,  273 
Willis,  N.    P.,  interview   with, 

151-153 

Lamb,  John,  213,  274 

Lamb,  Mary,  mentioned,  152- 
154,  156,  157,  168-173 

Lambs,  evenings  with  the,  271 

"  Liber  Amoris,"  origin  of,  199- 
201 

Literary  Criticism,  how  af- 
fected by  politics,  viii 

Lloyd,  Charles,  274 

Milton,  John,  Wordsworth's 
resemblance  to  a  portrait  of, 
16  note 

Montague,  Basil,  85,  274 

Procter,  Bryan  Waller,  259- 
268. 

Appearance,  263-266,  26B 
Chronological  table,  262 
Conversation,  263-265,  267,  268 
Geniality,  263,  265-268 
Harrow,  pugilism  at,  267 
Hazlitt,  intimacy  with,  265 
Height,  263,  264,  267 
Kindliness,  263,  265-268 
Leading  events  of  his  life,  262 
Nervousness,  265,  267 
Playfulness,  264 
Pugilism  in  youth,  264,  267 
Quoted,  9,   32,  66,   80,  81,  96, 
100,  118,    124,  125,  128,    129, 
131,    135,   144,    146,    148-151, 
165,    166,  169,  172,    173,  185, 
186,  188,    200,  212,  213,  223, 
226,  231,  233,  238,  271 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  resemblance 
to,  268 


Procter,      Bryan      Waller. — 

{Cont'd.) 

Shyness,  265,  268 

Society,  demeanor  in,  263-268 

Voice,  263,  266,  267 

Work,  methods  of,  266 
Scott,    Sir    Walter,    remark 

about  Burns's  eyes,  12 
Southey,    Robert,    compared 

with  Wordsworth,  21,  27 
mentioned,  14,  21,  27 


Walker,  Sarah,  the  heroine  of 
Hazlitt's  "Liber  Amoris,'' 
199-201. 

Wordsworth,  William,  3-54. 

Abstemiousness,  13,  36  vote 
Accent,  provincial,  16,  39 
Affectionateness,  48,  52 
Alcoholic  stimulants,  13,  21^  note 
Alone  in  a  crowd,  30 
Amanuenses,  use  of,  25,  26 
Ambition,  the  scope  of  his,  53 
Animal  propensities,  15,  16 
Appearance,   9-16,   27,    31,    32, 

95 

Architecture,  comparative  in- 
difference to,  48 

Argument,  strength  in,  21 

unwilling  to  hear,  38 

Arrogance,  36-38 

Austerity,  28,  31,  32 

Awkwardness,  14 

Benevolence,  51,  52 

Biographic  sketches  in  talk, 
excellence  of,  19 

Books,  treatment  of,  26,  27 

Boyhood, 9 

"  Catechetical  "  talk,  17 

Children,  love  of,  48 

Chronological  table,  7 

Coldness,  an  apology  for,  32 

toward   authors,  past   and 

contemporary,  iB,  40-42.  46 

Coleridge,  Hartley,  humane 
treatment  of,  52 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  compared 
with,  23,  31,  74,  95 

humorous  comment  upon, 

33 
intercourse  with,  23,  34,  35, 

73'  95 

shabby  treatment  of,  34,  35 

Conversation,    17-24   ?tote,    27, 

33'  44-46 


INDEX. 


295 


Wordsworth,  Wm. —  {Coitt^d.) 
Courtesy,  20,  22,  29,  50,  95 
Criticism,  hostile,    of  authors, 

18,  46 
De  Quincey's  account   of  him 

considered  unjust,  29 
Dickens     and     Wordsworth's 

opinions  of  each  other,  27,  28 
Domesticity,  48-50 
Dress,  10,  29,  95 
Egotism,   18,  36,  37,  39-42,  44- 

47 
Eyes,  10-12,  15,  22 
weakness   of,    18,    30  and 

7iote 
Faith  in  his  own  worii,  44,  45,  53 
"  Fending  and  proving,"  38 
Gait,  10,  14 
Generosity,  36,  51 
Geniality,  20,  29,  50 
Goodfellowship,  20,  29 
Gravity,  32,  136,  142 
Hand-writing,  25 
•'Happy    Warrior,   The,"   his 

comment  upon,  39 
Height,  14 
Home  life,  48-50,  52 
Hospitality,  odd  ideas  of,  35 
Household  economy,  35 
Humor,  an  instance  of,  33 
expressed  in  his  face,  10, 


32 


lack  of  the  sense  of,  33,  34 
uneasy  reception  of,  34 


Immobility,  32 
Impatience,  26 
of  constraint. 


28 


Insincerity,  an  instance  of,  34 
Intellectual  strength,  19,  51 
Isolation,  47 
Joke,  solitary  instance  of  one, 

33 

Kindness,  49,  50-52 
"  Laodamia,"  his  opinion  of,  40 
Leading  events  of  his  life,  7 
Listener,  a  good,  20,  22 
Ludicrous,    no    sense    of    the, 

33,  34,  40,  42 
Lukewarm      appreciation      of 

brother  authors,  18,  40,  41,  46 
Mental  abstraction,  47 
Milton,    his    watch    shown    to 

Wordsworth,  46 
Wordworth's  resemblance 

to  a  portrait  of,  16  note 


Wordsworth,  Wm .— ( Cont'd. ) 
Music,  26 
Narrowness,  18 
Nature,  love  of,  20,  23,  50 
Nature,  proprietorship  of,  37 
Observation,    habits   of    close, 

23.  50 
Out-of-doors  life,  13,  25,  27,  42, 

50 
Parsimony,  34,  35,  and  note 
Pedestrianism,  13,  14,  25 
Playfulness,  29 
Politics,  48 

Pronunciation,  16,  20,  39 
Proprietorship  of  nature,  37 
Quoted,  9,  17,  20,  25,  27,  33,  35, 

39,  40-45,  48,  53.  77,  87,  96, 

142,  146,  149 
Reading  aloud,  24 
Recitation  of  poetry,  24,  32 
Reciting  his  own  poems,  32,  39, 

41.  43 
Repartee,  his  notion  of,  33 
"Rob  Roy,'"  his  treatment   of 

Scott's  design  to  write,  40 
Rudeness,  37,  38 
Self-absorption,  29,  32,  41,  47 
Self-conceit,  18,  36,  37,  39-42, 

44-47 
Sensibility,  20,  23,  48 
Shaking  hands,  manner  of,  31 
Simplicity,  17,  20,  48,  49 
Smell,  no  sense  of,  26 
Smile,  sweetness  of,  10 
Society,    demeanor    in,    17-23, 

27-46.  95,  142 
Solemnity,  32,  136,  142 
Southey,  compared  with,  21,  27 
Stimulants,  freedom   from,  13, 

36  note 
Sturdiness,  11 

Suicide,  thoughts   of,  in  child- 
hood, 9 
Temper,  9,  28,  29,  52 
Town    and     country    manners 

contrasted,  29 
"  Valooable  thoughts,''  39 
Voice,  10,  16,  17,  20,  24,  32,  43 
Walking,  13,  14,  25 
"White  Doe,  The,"  why  pub- 
lished in  quarto,  45 
Wit,  his  idea  of  his  own,  33 
Work,  methods  of,  21,  25 

out-of-doors,  25 

Writing  painful  to  him,  25 


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